


Saint's Hallow

by emmbrancsxx0, sleepinnude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Halloweentown Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Claire Novak's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Estrangement, Halloween, Halloweentown References, Husbands, Longing, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Parallel Universes, Pining, Witch Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Dean Winchester, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmbrancsxx0/pseuds/emmbrancsxx0, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: It's been five years since Cas took Jack to the mortal world, leaving Dean and Claire behind in Saint's Hallow. But when the very thing that he was running from comes back, he and his estranged family will need to confront the threat, and all their feelings, head-on.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 75
Kudos: 166
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke [[x](https://valleydean.tumblr.com/post/630292677256232960/would-you-guys-be-mad-at-me-if-i-wrote-a-deancas)] [[x](https://joharvele.tumblr.com/post/630346804264861696/this-is-all-valleydeans-fault-so-please-direct)] and turned into an even bigger joke.
> 
> Posting schedule:  
> Chapters 1 & 2 - Fri, 10/30/20  
> Chapters 3 & 4 - Sat, 10/31/20
> 
> Don't @ us but you're welcome.
> 
> [Soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PaWOfzJRvUnuAPuJrz73I) | [Moodboard](https://www.pinterest.com/allisonchayya/saints-hallow/)

_Ancient magic runs deep in families two,  
Known well through Hallow of the Saint.  
A bond between them brings a child through,  
Whose power will become unrestrained.  
This child could sway, as magic grows  
to either side, dark or light;  
To dark, all worlds will be plagued with woes  
But with love, peace will reign, sure and bright._

_Five years ago._  
Cas knew, as he laid in bed with Claire and Jack between himself and Dean, what he was going to do. He knew when he cast the simple enchantment that would wake him and only him in a few short hours. He knew when he slipped out of bed and quietly packed a bag of bare essentials for him and Jack, moving in the dark of the pre-dawn. He knew when he carefully lifted Claire’s arms from around her brother and brought Jack close to his chest, soothing him back to sleep when he stirred.

He knew when he looked down at his daughter, face smooth and peaceful, blonde hair a cloud around her head. He knew it when he looked down at his husband, at Dean. He knew what he was going to do and he knew (he hoped) it was the right thing.

He only wished he could wake Dean. Then he would be able to see Dean’s green eyes and smile one last time. Give him one last kiss, hold him close. Take time to memorize the motor grease and ash smell of him. Instead, Castiel convinced himself this wasn’t goodbye. This was just to give Dean the push he needed. He would go to the mortal plane and Dean would follow. It was the only way. The only way to be safe.

So he only laid his hand, gently, in the soft muss of Dean’s sleep-messy hair, whispered a faint sleep charm and a goodbye into the night, and then he left.

Their house still held a faintly blue glow to it, remnants of the triple-warding he and Dean had cast after what had happened. The protection was so strong that Cas could feel its presence slip away when he stepped over the threshold. Jack must have been able to feel it as well, because he woke suddenly.

“Papa?” he asked in a lilting cry.

All around them, Saint’s Hallow slept.

“It’s okay, Jack,” Cas hummed, keeping his pace. There was still plenty of time before the portal closed, but he wanted to get through it and settle somewhere before it got to be morning in Saint’s Hallow. His plan was to find a hotel for the first few nights, then maybe a throw-away apartment, and finally, once he had Dean and Claire with him and they had made a plan, a house. A house that they could pick together, make a home, together, as a family.

“Papa,” Jack yawned. He clutched tight at Cas’s collar, his eyes red and swollen with exhaustion and from having cried so much hours ago. “But… Where are we going?”

Cas tried to swallow back the guilt, the preemptive regret, and walked faster. “Somewhere safe.”

“But…Daddy? Claire?”

Cas’s chest tightened. “They’re gonna meet us. Later.” He hoped that wasn’t a lie. Dean would come after them, that much Cas was sure of. He only hoped that, once they were all on the other side, he would be able to convince Dean to stay. He _had_ to. Deep within him, Cas knew this was the right thing to do. He knew this was what they needed to do to keep Jack safe, to keep their whole family safe. More would be coming, that much he knew. There would be more nights like the night before if they stayed in Saint’s Hallow.

And maybe, he had told himself, Claire could even be happier in the mortal realm. There would be no magic for her to miss out on, no one to tease her about her lack of ability. It would all be better, on the other side. They would be fine, they would be together. They would be a family.

_Present day._  
When Cas first woke, there was a brief moment of calm. It was just another morning, any other morning. The sun was already high, coming through the window, but he knew it was Saturday. No work, nowhere to be, and Jack got to have Halloween on a weekend—

With that thought, the rest of reality clicked into place around Castiel. He sat up and steeled himself against the surge of anxiety, of panic, of _excitement_. Halloween. It was Halloween.

More awake, he could feel it—not the drop of humidity or the crisp breeze of autumn on the air. Something deeper than all those physical things; something that had shifted in the veil, the lining up of worlds and the opening of doors. The magic that lived deep in his veins, that had lain dormant for a year, stirred and reached out to meet the magic that could, today, seep through.

Halloween meant the barrier between the mortal world and the other world was thinner, permeable. Were you at a liminal space, like a certain diner and gas-up station north of Boston, you would be able to cross over. From Saint’s Hallow, into Salem.

Dean and Claire were coming that day.

And it was going to be awkward and hideously painful (and then even worse when, before three AM, they had to take off again before that channel slammed shut) and he was going to spend a large amount of the day pointedly focusing on Claire and Jack so as to avoid focusing on Dean, but Dean was going to be there. He would be there, with him, on the same plane, which meant that it was also the best day of Castiel’s year.

And Castiel wasn’t the only one with a circle in bright red on his mental calendar. Barely a heartbeat had passed since Cas settled back against his pillow when the bedroom door flung open. Jack bounced in and climbed onto Cas’s bed, shouting, “It’s today! It’s today” as he nuzzled into his father’s neck. Castiel took the time to hold onto his son - their son - and rest his cheek against Jack’s fuzzy, sleep-mussed hair. He was almost halfway through eight years old and would likely soon be too old to climb into his father’s bed and cuddle close without an air of embarrassment.

But that was for the future, as for now, Jack still clung to Cas and settled into his lap. “Daddy’s coming today! Claire’s coming today!”

Castiel smiled against Jack’s hair one last time and then snagged his phone from the side-table. There was still about an hour until they passed through. Opening his messages, he found a text from Benny, _Everything copacetic, brother._

Benny ran the diner that sat on Salem’s leylines and served as the portal between the mortal world and Saint’s Hallow. Half-warden, half-welcoming committee for that doorway, he was also a friend to Cas and to Dean, someone who had left Saint’s Hallow for his own reasons years back. And every October 31, he checked in with Cas, to let him know the state of the doorway.

“Looks like everything is on schedule,” Castiel said. Jack let out another cheer. Castiel saw then that he had trailed Marvin in with him, a stuffed bear that was a gift from his Uncle Sam, passed along by Dean years back. That first Halloween, the charm on the bear had still been active, and everytime Jack hugged it, Sam’s voice said that he loved Jack. Unfortunately the magic couldn’t last beyond that one day. “Let’s get up and get ready, so they don’t walk in on us in pajamas, with bedhead.”

Jack giggled and reached up to pat Castiel’s hair. “You always have bedhead, Papa.”

They went through the usual morning shuffle of washing up and getting dressed (Jack appeared in his miniature Led Zeppelin shirt, making Castiel’s heart squeeze fondly while Castiel absolutely did not spend longer than usual getting dressed and fussing with his hair) before meeting in the kitchen for breakfast. “What are we having?” he asked, already reaching for the carton of eggs.

Dean may come through into a diner every year, but he and Claire usually only spared enough time to catch up with Benny before heading out. They only had so long to spend together, after all. Breakfast for four, two of those being Dean and Claire, meant a large breakfast and a greasy breakfast.

“Can I help?” Jack asked eagerly as Cas rooted around for the package of bacon.

“Would you like to make the coffee?” he offered.

He set Jack up with the tin of coffee, a prepared filter and percolator, and strict instructions on how much of the grounds to add. Half an eye on his son, seated on the counter and scooping out coffee cheerifly, Castiel lit the burners and, since he was able to that day, cast a thread of magic to heat the pans immediately.

“Done!” Jack announced, pressing the button on the coffee machine to start the brewing, and then leapt off the counter.

The rest of breakfast prep was spent with Jack dancing around Castiel’s feet and Castiel warning him over and again about the hot stove. He understood, though: Jack was full of energy and excitement, bursting at the seams for Dean and Claire to arrive. Castiel felt much the same, a bubble of anticipation rising in his chest. Claire had been a few months away from fourteen last Halloween, that was a whole new era of teenager she went through since Cas saw her last. And then, Dean. Of course, Dean…

Jack was in the middle of a breathless recounting of what Anna had told him about bacon (his favorite babysitter was a vegetarian and while she was fairly low-key about the diet, Castiel had no doubt that Jack, full of questions, asked and she merely answered) when the full-throated roar of an engine sounded. And that could only mean one thing.

Jack shoved back from his chair so hard that it clattered to the floor. “Daddy!” And with that he was off, darting out of the kitchen and to the front door.

There was a time when the roar of the Impala inspired the same breathless excitement in Cas. It meant that Dean was there, picking him up for a date, home from a long day at work. The feel of it rattling beneath his legs as he and Dean tore through Saint’s Hallow with adolescent glee. He could remember sun on the leather seats, stars through the windshield, sitting on the hood and inching his hand toward Dean’s, the brush of their thumbs on the bench seat. The pulse of their hips in the backseat. The Impala meant Dean, always. It was only in the last few years that it also meant a buzzing of uncertain anxiety rocketing through Cas’s body.

Cas took the minute of replacing Jack’s chair to settle his breathing, settle his heart. Outside the Impala’s engine ticked off and Cas had to smile to himself. Trust Dean to bring his Baby along. There was a slip of space in the passage that opened to the side of the diner, hardly enough space for a car to come along but Dean’s driving aided with the expert finesse of his magic meant that he could travel in style on either side of the veil.

The front door opened and Castiel made his way to the hall in time to see Jack diving into Dean’s arms. He watched Dean’s hands close and steady, ensuring that Jack was safe in his hold, Dean tipping his face into Jack’s hair, as Cas had a few hours ago, the way Dean squeezed his eyes shut and focused his entire self on holding Jack, holding onto his son. There was something all-consuming about the way Dean loved, whether it was his brother, or his children, or even, once upon a time, Cas. He loved with his whole body and all of his heart and you could see it in the lines of his body. Cas could see it, clearly, as he held onto Jack.

And then, for all that he had been thinking and worrying about his husband, the sight of Dean and Jack was swept away when Claire stepped around them and into Cas’s sightline. There was make-up on her face: dark liner around her eyes with thick lashes and gloss over her lips. Her hair was longer still than last year and done in two thick plaits with thin black chains braided through. And the jacket she wore was too large because, Castiel realized, it had once belonged to Dean. He could remember a teenaged Dean pulling the army-green canvas up his arms, over his shoulders, plucking a hidden flask from one of the pockets with a smirk when they snuck off to make out in the woods.

“Claire,” he said, voice cracked and eyes welling up.

His daughter rolled her eyes at him but he could see that they were red beneath the dark liner. She licked her lips and tilted her head and then dropped against his chest in a hug. “Missed you, Pops,” she sighed into the collar of his shirt, holding tight.

Castiel clutched back, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deep. The scent memory hit him full force, holding Claire for the first time. Tucking his nose into her newborn-fine hair and knowing that she was his, she was _theirs_. This arrangement was heartbreaking for one million and one reasons, with more added every day, but missing Claire accounted for at least half of those. It was hard in the early years, when she was sullen and angry all the time. But now, with the improved mood, it felt even harder for Cas. Not to mention the fact that it felt like she grew decades between each visit. She was on her way to adulthood and it felt like just yesterday Cas had taught her how to tie her shoes.

The thick canvas of Claire’s coat, Dean’s coat, shuffled as she pulled back a little. “You’re getting old,” she joked, water in her chuckle. She reached up and traced what Castiel knew was a weaving of gray through his hair.

“Me?” he asked, a hitch in his tone. “Look at you.” He put his hands on her shoulders and kept her at arms-length to take in the full picture. She looked so much like her surrogate mother—Amelia had been younger than Dean and Cas, a devout in Saint’s Hallow, and Castiel could remember the sight of her ducking around town. Although, Amelia had never worn quite as much black as Claire was sporting. “I don’t know how I feel about the make-up,” Cas added with a laugh. Rubbing one thumb under her eye, he caught a tear-track streaked with black kohl.

“I tell her the same thing, every morning.”

Castiel looked from his daughter to his husband and suddenly, there was Dean. Handsome and bright as the first day they met. Though a bit older since the last year, like Cas: crow’s feet lining his eyes and discreet patches of silver at the temples. Jack was still tacked into his side, arms around Dean’s waist and Dean had a hand resting between the boy’s shoulders. Cas ached to drop into the pocket of his chest. To remember what it felt like to have Dean hold him. That wasn’t something he was entitled to anymore. Their estrangement had been a gradual thing (kisses stopped, touches dropped off, conversations became stilted) but the pain of it, the want of it, still spread between his chest, thick and dark like pitch. He knew, in a large way, it was his fault. Their marriage was one in name only, these days, but Cas clung to the nominal status. It was all he had, after all.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, voice softer, eyes set.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said back and when he smiled it was that same terrible smile that he always brought with him across the divide, the one that stopped at his jawline and made Cas forget to inhale. Not that he could blame Dean, not at all. It just… hurt. All of them hurt from it.

“We made breakfast!” Jack exclaimed, breaking the tension. He made for the kitchen, tugging Dean behind him by hand.

“Hope there’s plenty of bacon,” Dean said in a cheery tone. When he passed Cas, though, he kept his face down, eyes shaded.

A few minutes later and they were all seated and eating. Jack was happily filling Claire in on the origins of bacon while Dean and Cas pretended not to be looking at each other over the rims of their coffee mugs.

“How... are things?” Cas asked, a little at a loss. _How are you? How’s our daughter? Your brother and the rest of our family? All the friends I left behind and the world I left with them? How are you? How’s your heart, have you healed it yet? Will you ever? Will you ever forgive me?_

“Yeah, it’s been…” Dean cleared his throat, head bowed down to his plate. He shrugged a little, fork edging his helping of eggs around. “Not great.” He didn’t say anything more.

Cas cocked his head to the side and Dean looked up to meet his gaze. They locked eyes and then Dean pointedly looked at Claire and Jack. The two had fallen silent and were looking between their fathers. The message from Dean was clear: they would talk later, away from the children’s ears. Anxiety fizzled through Cas’s chest as he wondered what “not great” meant. Best guess was that Lucifer was getting worse, of course.

He left it at that, let Dean stab moodily at his eggs. _It will always be like this,_ something in Cas whispered. Talk of Lucifer always soured the air between them and there would always be talk of Lucifer, it seemed. Until, in Dean’s view, Cas helped to beat him once and for all. Until, in Cas’s view, Dean and Claire joined them away from that world for good.

But they hadn’t been able to settle that fight in five years, so Cas didn’t think their outlook was promising.

_Five years ago._  
No one believed the prophecy, not really. Dean said a great-great-great-grandfather of his swore it was true and Castiel’s Aunt Naomi warned them about it, but she was always a little off. Castiel, in his more romantic moments, told Dean that they were fated to be together, written in the stars, like Romeo and Juliet. Dean always rolled his eyes, told him fate was a bunch of bullshit, and then kissed Cas until he forgot about Shakespeare.

Most of the rest of the town, too, thought it was a joke. Sure, there was some truth to power and ability being hereditary and, yes, Dean and Cas’s families were both pretty well-known and powerful throughout Saint’s Hallow. But, importantly, any child they had wouldn’t be of both their bloodlines. And they didn’t know of any evil. Sure, Miss Eve who ran the diner could be kind of a bitch sometimes, but not in the way that was so bad it would ruin their world and all others.

And then, there was Claire. Sweet Claire who was an unfussy baby, but couldn’t conjure so much as a soap bubble, even with Cas’s blood in her. Power unmatched, indeed. Claire grew up happy and healthy but never developed the slightest of magic ability. That helped, at least, to convince any holdovers who still believed the prophecy was more than a poem someone wrote generations ago for a laugh.

But when they took in Jack… He could conjure his favorite teddy bear at bedtime, and slam open the refrigerator when he wanted more milk, and break windows when he had a tantrum. Even that sort of thing, though, wasn’t unheard of. “Sammy could levitate me when he was, like, four,” Dean explained it away with a shrug. And everyone in town had a story like that, someone in their family who was more intune with their abilities from an early age. And even if Jack was some fated “Most Powerful Child,” there was still no one in Saint’s Hallow who you could consider an evil and corrupting force.

When Lucifer made his appearance, it was sudden and it was mysterious. One day there was nothing in the stretch of land that ran at the backend of Saint’s Hallow’s town limits, and then the next day there was a stone cathedral, and there was Lucifer. He knew the prophecy, he said, and he was powerful. In magical ability and in charisma. He spun tails and turned facts on their heads. He gave people who were uncertain and unsure a place to come and a group to join. He gathered those who were looking for something, gave them someone to follow and something to do. And it was all centered around Jack.

Never mind that Dean had told him, loudly and in no uncertain terms, that if he ever came near their son there would be hell to pay. Lucifer claimed that all would see the light, eventually. He claimed that Dean and Cas and all the others in Saint’s Hallow would understand how important Jack was, and the role he had to play in the future of the universe.

Lucifer had a vision for the world, for all the worlds, that began with himself on a throne. He preached that the other worlds were weak, without any magic or with magic much weaker than what his could be. It was his destiny, according to him, to brink the worlds together and under his rule. He would bring them all to their potential, as long as they fell in line behind him.

But that vision was one he couldn’t yet complete. For whatever reason, unlike the other citizen’s of Saint’s Hallow, Lucifer couldn’t cross over to the mortal world. Not on Halloween, not on any other day, not ever. Jack was key to his vision and, it seemed, key to him walking through the portal.

Dean and Cas didn’t think much of it, really, until Lucifer broke into their house one Halloween night, in an attempt to steal Jack from his bed. He had failed, and been chased off, but it lit an urgent fear in Cas that hadn’t been there before.

He clutched Jack close to him that night, pressing his cheek into his son’s soft hair. The toddler had been crying on and off for the past few hours. Now, though, the tears were more out of exhaustion than anything else. He gasped shakily into Cas’s tee shirt and Cas ran a hand down his small shoulders.

“You know as well as I do what has to happen here,” Cas said quietly.

Dean was staring at the middle-distance, jaw set. He hadn’t spoken in awhile and Cas didn’t like the look on his face. Dean had always been a little more interior, a little more self-sufficient. Cas could recognize the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes were somewhere else. Dean was making a plan and convincing himself that it was the only way. And if he hadn’t said anything to Cas yet, it was because he knew that Cas wouldn’t like whatever it was.

“Dean,” he said, voice sharp. “We have to leave. We can’t stay here, not when people are trying to...to use our child.” His hold went a little tighter around Jack and the boy wailed from it. After murmuring apologies and soothing sounds, Cas looked back to his husband. “He came into our house. We’re not safe.”

Finally, Dean looked up, at Cas. He heaved himself out of the armchair and moved closer, cupping a hand to the back of Jack’s head. “We can’t just run,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Where would we go, even if we did? Wherever we go, they’re gonna follow. The only way to end this...is to end it.”

“End it?” Cas asked. “What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means. Fight this. This is our home, I’m not gonna let some asshole chase us out of it. We figure out how to beat Lucifer. We stand our ground and we finish him.”

“What if there isn’t any way?” Cas asked back. Jack had mostly quieted by then, so Cas settled him onto the couch, next to Claire’s sleeping form. He took a second to stroke his hand through Claire’s tangled hair. She gave a quiet sigh, but stayed asleep.

“We find a way!” Dean replied, throwing his hands up. “Like we always do. That’s how it works - we stick together and we deal with it.”

With some measure of disbelief, Cas shook his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not enough. Not when it comes to our children, to their safety.”

“They are safe with us,” Dean protested, one fist thumping at his chest. His eyes were desperate at the edges. Cas had known him for decades and decades; he knew this was Dean at his ends. This was a Dean trying to keep his family together, a Dean who would do anything to keep all the people he loved in one piece. “They’re safe with you and me, with Sam and Rowena and all the rest of our family and friends nearby. We run off somewhere else and we’re all alone, without anyone to help when Lucifer and his yahoos find us. And they will find us, Cas.”

“Not if we go somewhere they can’t follow.”

There was a tense stretch of silence between them, charged eye contact.

On the couch, Claire had woken from the raised voices. She sat up, her blanket over her shoulders, and pulled her brother into her lap. She curled her arms around him, as if protecting him from their parents’ argument.

“Are you suggesting,” Dean began, a dangerous edge in his voice, “we go over to the mortal world?”

“Yes!” Cas countered. “Yes, I am. Lucifer can’t make it over the passage, for whatever the reason is.”

“For now! That we know of!”

“And even if they do cross over,” Cas continued, eyes dark, “they won’t be able to use as much magic. It’s Halloween Day there, still. We could go now. We could be safe there.”

“No. No, we would be alone and defenseless! So when they do come over and find us we’ll be sitting ducks for them.”

“You won’t even consider it? For the safety of our family, our kids, for Jack.”

“It wouldn’t be safer! You just wanna cut and run! Look for the easy way out! ”

“You’re just looking for a fight!”

“Stop it!” Claire yelled. Both Dean and Cas snapped to the side to look at their daughter. Her face was red with tears streaming down her cheeks and Jack was sobbing again, in her lap. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Stop fighting. Please…” She heaved in a breath, let out a long, low cry and then turned her face into the back of the couch.

“Oh Claire…” Cas hummed. Any anger he had left in his system drained at the sight of their children, scared and upset and exhausted. As one, he and Dean moved to the couch. Dean gingerly took Jack and held him against his chest. Cas pulled Claire into his lap, letting her cry into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clairebear. We shouldn’t have argued like that in front of you.”

“I don’t wanna go anywhere! I wanna stay here. I wanna stay with you.”

Cas smoothed a hand down her blonde hair and looked over her head to Dean. His eyes were glassy as he looked from Jack’s shaking shoulders to his husband.

“I know, sweetheart,” Dean hummed out. He slid across the couch, closer, and leaned in to press a kiss to Claire’s temple. His free arm stretched over the back of the couch, hand resting on Cas’s arm. “Don’t worry. No one’s leaving. We’re in this together, always. Me and Papa, we’re gonna keep you safe. You know that, right?”

Claire pulled from Cas’s shoulder to offer Dean a wary look before nodding. “Yeah,” she said, scrubbing at her face with her wrist.

“That goes for you too, kiddo,” Dean added, prying Jack away from his chest to get a look at him. “You know there’s nothing here or in the mortal world or anywhere else that we’d let get to you, right?”

Jack nodded, thumb already back in his mouth, moving with his stuttering breaths. Faintly, the grandfather clock chimed two in the morning.

“All right,” Cas said, feeling a bone-deep fatigue settle through his body. “It is very much past everyone’s bedtime.”

“Papa!” Claire said, scrambling to hold onto his shirt. “Can… Can me and Jack sleep with you and Daddy?”

Cas looked to Dean. His husband was already cradling Jack close to him again, eyes closed. “Of course, Claire. I think that’s a good idea.”

Once upstairs, Cas settled Claire into the middle of his and Dean’s bed. Dean passed Jack over and it wasn’t long before the kids were drifting off, holding tight to each other. At the foot of the bed, Dean and Cas exchanged a look before meeting in the middle. Arms around his husband, Cas hoped his embrace didn’t read as too wild, too desperate.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, voice thick. “I didn’t mean to—I’m just...fucking scared.”

“I know,” Cas said softly. He stroked his hand through Dean’s hair then let it drift around to the swell of his shoulder. He squeezed there, anchoring himself to Dean. “Come on, love. Let’s go to bed. We can figure this out in the morning.”

Before Cas could pull away, Dean shifted their angles and brought him in for a kiss. Cas let himself linger in the embrace. The way Dean’s body felt around him, the smell of his shampoo, the tightness over his cheeks that was drying tear tracks. “I love you, Cas,” Dean said against his lips. “So damn much.”

“I love you too, Dean. With all that I am.”

They went to bed together. And two hours later, Castiel slipped away, into the soft gray night, with Jack.

_Present day._  
To Dean’s delight, Jack had chosen to go trick-or-treating as a cowboy that year. He was effusive over the vest and boots Jack wore, the toy-guns and mini-holsters. And there was a lingering look on his face when he joked with his son, put the child-sized Stetson on his head and made finger guns.

“He picked it out all himself,” Cas assured him, watching with a faint smile. He pretended to be exasperated by it, even when they were young together, but truthfully he found Dean’s preoccupation with all things Western adorable. Jack migrated toward the cultural phenomenon even without Dean’s input. As young as five, he would be transfixed in front of some Western movie from the thirties.

Claire took ten minutes in the bathroom and emerged with a pale face, sunken eyes and nose, and a streak of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. “DIY Zombie,” she said with a wink, zippering a make-up bag closed. Cas wondered how good she had gotten with cosmetics in the past year until he saw the familiar packaging in the trash from Abaddon’s line of enchanted make-up and disguises.

Trick-or-treating was more drawn out than usual, as it was a Saturday. While Claire and Jack hopped ahead of their fathers, Dean and Cas strode side-by-side, hands in pockets, and pretended the silence between them wasn’t awkward. They made some small talk, brief updates about Cas’s job, about Sam’s dog, but not much else. The promise of a more substantial, darker talk, once the kids were in bed, loomed.

After trick-or-treating (and after Claire and Jack both dumped their hauls on the living room floor and began the arduous process of trading candies), Cas announced that he was going to get started on dinner.

“Oh,” Claire said, rising from her seat on the floor, “can I help?” She hadn’t cleaned off her make-up yet and the zombie effect clashed with the earnest look on her face.

“Of course,” Cas said, tilting his head. “If you’d like.” He didn’t know if she liked to cook, he realized suddenly, and guilt hit him so hard he thought he might bowl over from it. Once again, he was confronted with how much of a stranger his daughter was to him. Setting his shoulders back, he gave what he hoped was a steady smile and gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen.

They set up side by side, Claire cutting vegetables while Cas handled the meat. Through the hall, they could both hear Jack and Dean’s voices lilting in, laughing every so often. For a moment, just a moment, Cas allowed himself the fantasy of that being everyday. Dean minding after Jack while he and Claire cooked dinner. Neither of them trying to make up for lost time, neither of them avoiding the other or any difficult conversations. One family, in one house, in one world.

“Do you and Dad cook often?” Cas asked, swallowing past the block in his throat.

Claire shrugged a little, eyes on her cutting board. “Yeah, I guess. He usually handles the whole dinner thing, unless I get too fed up with his cooking and kick him out of the kitchen for a night.” She was smiling down at work, as if remembering something funny. Cas wished he knew what it was.

“Your dad has always been an excellent cook,” he said. He could remember their first dates, Dean insisting that he would make dinner for them. Claire’s childhood had been a mix, Dean and Cas trading off on dinner duty. She had just been getting to the age where she might be able to help, when Cas left.

“Yeah, sure,” Claire said, rolling her eyes a little. “If you like burgers, lasagna, and chicken pot pie, he’s an Iron Chef. But he’s not too eager to get out of that comfort zone, you know? I guess I just like to shake things up a little more than he does.”

Cas smiled; he could see the truth in that. “Well, you’ll have to teach him some new recipes. I hear Pinterest is good for that sort of thing.”

Claire pulled a face that was made to look all the more disdainful with her make-up. “There is something seriously wrong with a dad saying the word pinterest.” They laughed together, nudging shoulders, and then continued on in a companionable silence.

Until Claire laid her knife down and turned to Cas. He turned as well, waiting, as she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “He won’t really...tell me a lot? I guess he doesn’t want me to worry. Or, more likely, he doesn’t want me trying to go off on my own to help. But.” Finally she looked up, blue eyes meeting Cas’s and he could see the clear worry in them. “Things are getting bad. Really bad. I can tell. And he’s…scared.” She reached out, taking one of Cas’s hands in both of hers. “He needs your help, Pops. And I don’t know if he’ll be able to admit as much, not in as many words. But I know it’s true. He needs—” She stopped. Sighed softly. “We need your help with this.”

Cas swallowed. For their fifteen year old daughter to know what was happening, to be concerned enough that she brought Cas aside and made a direct plea… Cas’s chest welled with shame. He pulled her to him and held tight, eyes closed. She hugged him back and for a minute that was all there was: the two of them holding each other.

“I’ll help,” he promised. He gave her one last squeeze and then pulled back to peer into her face. “Your father and I will talk, after dinner, and I promise I’ll help. I’m here, okay?” He passed a hand over her hair, still neatly bound back in braids. With a sudden clarity, he ached for all the years that he lost with Claire. He had missed so much of her life and given the chance, standing in front of her like this, he couldn’t say if he would do the same thing over.

Claire nodded, a line of tears cutting through the make-up on her cheeks, and one patch rubbed off from her cheek, where she had leaned into Cas. “Okay,” she said, voice soft and small.

Cas took her close again, kissing her forehead. “I love you, Claire. In every world, on every plane, okay? I love you. I’m sorry that—”

“No,” she cut him off. Clearing her throat a little, she nudged away and went back to her food preparations. “It’s okay. I mean. I get it. I don’t like it. I don’t like being away from you and all. But I get that you did what you had to do. And this is the best for Jack. To keep him safe, or whatever.”

Cas hesitated, wanted to say more, but Claire tipped her face up and passed him a smile. “Really, Papa. It’s okay. Besides, one emotional upheaval per dinner is enough.” He nodded then, and they went back to work.

At dinner, the whole of the family seemed more relaxed and in higher spirits than at breakfast. Cas watched as Dean led conversations easily, complimenting Cas and Claire (who had cleaned her face) on their cooking and making jokes about Jack being a growing boy who needed to eat something other than candy.

“But I _like_ nougat!” Jack countered, grinning wide. (Claire had very generously traded all her Milky Ways and Three Musketeers to her brother earlier. “I like Reese’s better anyway,” she had said with a shrug).

“A man cannot live on nougat alone,” Dean said, as if he was imparting some great philosophical wisdom.

Claire interrupted, “Does that mean you’re gonna cut down on your candy intake, Dad?”

While Jack and Claire giggled conspiratorially at that, Cas found himself meeting Dean’s eyes straight-on. The smile on Dean’s face was soft and warm, gently creasing the corners of his eyes. There was a world where Cas was allowed to reach out and cup around the back of Dean’s head. Thumb at the lines fanning out from his eyes and lean in to press a kiss to his temple. There was a world where Dean would turn his head into the kiss, and then Claire and Jack would chorus out “eww!” at their parents being gross. There was a world; but it wasn’t one that Cas could reach through any portal or any amount of magic.

Whatever spell had spun between them broke and they both cast their glances aside at the same time. Dean cleared his throat and said something about taking Jack fishing next year. That electrified the boy, who immediately began chattering, while Claire wrinkled her nose. “He doesn’t know how boring fishing is yet,” she muttered to Cas. He could only offer a weak smile to her as he trained his eyes on Dean once more.

After dinner, a tension spread over the house. There were only a few hours left and Jack was waning quickly. When Cas mentioned that he might need to get to bed soon, there were signs of a tantrum. Claire intervened, suggested that she and Dean help Jack get ready for bed. He begrudgingly agreed, though he declared that he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Cas tended to the dishes, in the meantime, and helped himself to more-than-a-few fingers of whiskey in preparation for the talk that he and Dean would have to have. But after all that, an hour had passed and neither Claire nor Dean reappeared. When he listened, he could still hear the mellow lull of Dean’s voice from the back hall, Jack’s room.

He found all three of them crammed onto Jack’s single bed: Dean against the headboard with one leg planted on the floor, Jack flopped into his side, the sleeve of Dean’s flannel tight in his first, and Claire against his other side with knees curled to her chest. Dean had _Bone Soup_ propped in his lap, reading dutifully, and adding his own colorful commentary on the characters’ choices. A smile came to Cas’s face as he remembered Dean doing the same thing when Claire was little, riling her into giggling fits before bed.

The girl in question had her eyes on her little brother, though, not her father. She shifted, stroking Jack’s bangs back after he let out a yawn. In the movement, Castiel caught sight of the stuffed animal Claire was cuddling. Not one of Jack’s, but familiar all the same: Grumpy Cat. A silly plush character that Castiel had given her years ago, on her first visit. He never considered that she would actually keep it, but she had.

Maybe she slept with it every night, holding it close to the crook of her neck, maybe she confided to it when she was angry with Dean, maybe she cried into the polyester fur when she had had a bad day. At any rate, she had kept the stuffed animal and Castiel could only hope it had been a comfort to her, in all the ways that he hadn’t been.

Castiel kept to the doorjamb, enjoying the sight of his family, together. Whole.

“Papa!” Jack cried, stirring Cas from his trance. “Come read with us.”

“I don’t think there’s any room for me,” Cas pointed out with a smile.

“Besides, me and Papa have some stuff to talk about,” Dean said, handing the book over to Claire. “Boring, grown-up stuff. You and Claire can finish reading, okay?”

Jack’s eyes immediately filled. “You’ll come say good-bye first, right? Even if I’m sleeping, you gotta wake me up before you leave!”

Dean’s eyes were tense but he kept his smile, passing a hand over Jack’s hair and kissing his forehead. “I promise, kiddo. I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

“C’mon, I wanna see how it ends,” Claire said, nudging Jack softly. The two settled in together and Cas let himself watch for another minute before he and Dean headed back out to the living room.

They stalled for a short while, preparing coffee and making small talk about the trick-or-treating, Jack excelling in school, how much Claire had grown.

That offered Cas a segue, though, and he took it. “She mentioned… When we were making dinner. She mentioned that things were bad.” Claire’s blue eyes filled with fear and a child’s trust in her father. It was always almost too much to remember. “She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but she could tell that it’s been taking a toll on you.”

Dean shaded his eyes with his hand. “Yeah, I try to keep her out of it as much as I can. Last thing I need is her running into this mess, guns blazing. But yeah, it’s—” When he met Cas’s eyes, Cas was surprised to see the naked fear written over his face. It had been years since Dean had let himself be open and vulnerable with him. Part of Cas hated that it was this, that what Dean would finally share with him was despair. But that was a small and unkind part of Cas and it was quickly pushed aside by the immeasurable need to comfort. He slid closer on the couch but didn’t dare to reach out, not yet.

“In the past year, especially,” Dean went on. “I dunno how, really, but Lucifer’s getting stronger. He’s convinced more people to join him. He got to, well, outcasts. People who have always been a little lost, who’re looking for something to believe in.” His hands tightened around the ceramic of his coffee mug. “At least, that’s what Sam says. And there’s still more who think he’s full of shit, but it’s...hard to see. Every day it seems like he has more people on his side. And that’s not even counting…”

Cas waited for Dean to continue, but his husband just stared into his coffee. “Dean?” He prompted gently. Cas laid a hand to Dean’s shoulder then, barely enough to be called a touch. “What is it?”

Dean exhaled long and slow at Cas’s touch, eyes closing. “It’s some kind of magic. A spell or something, but we can’t figure out what, exactly. He’s...brainwashing people. Or, Sammy says it’s closer to mind-control, or possession. I don’t know. They’re his puppets. They just...do whatever he needs done. And you can tell. It’s like there’s gone. Their eyes are empty and it’s…” Dean trailed off but Cas’s stomach had already dropped in dread.

A spell like that, imposing your will over another person’s, that was powerful magic. The fact that Lucifer was able to perform a spell of that caliber alone meant that he was reaching frightening levels of ability. And then what that spell granted him, potentially enslaving the whole of the town to his whim.

A thought occurred to Cas and the dread inside him froze to terror. Lucifer could take Dean. It could be Dean staring at him, with empty eyes, going after their son. Cas shut his eyes against the thought, trying to will it away. It would never come to that. Dean was too strong, anyway. He would never allow it, no matter how robust Lucifer’s ability got.

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, voice wrecked. “Cas, he has Charlie.”

Charlie was one of Dean’s closest friends, had been since they were preteens. Cas had considered her a friend as well, of course. In their visits, Claire referred to her as Aunt Charlie, and there had been gifts from the redhead here and there as well. She was bright and lively and with so much personality it seemed like it might burst out of her small frame. To think of her emptied out by some spell, to think of her under Lucifer’s control… Anger and despair warred within Cas.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he said. He tightened his hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing a little to offer some physical mark of his support.

Dean turned to look at him, eyes boring into his. “That’s why I need your help, Cas.” He set his coffee mug aside and took Cas’s hands in his. They were rough, a little colder than room temperature, like always. His thumbs ran over Cas’s knuckles and for a moment, Cas was mesmerized by the motion, by the touch. “I need you to come back, okay. So we can fight this, so we can finish this, as a family.”

Some part of Cas had expected this, maybe. Expected Dean to ask him to come back and help the fight. It hadn’t been something they’d discussed since that first Halloween, years back, but if Lucifer was getting stronger, if he had Charlie…

“Cas,” Dean said, insistent. “I need you.”

“I...can’t.” With herculean effort, Cas pulled his hands away. “You said it yourself, Lucifer is getting stronger. I can’t bring Jack back to that. We’re safer here. We’re safer here, away from it all.”

“Okay,” Dean said, ice in his tone. “What about everyone else? What about Charlie? What about Sam? What about me and Claire, Cas? We’re not safer. Jack isn’t the only thing at risk here, not anymore.”

“You could stay here,” Cas offered weakly, knowing that was a useless suggestion.

Dean rose from the couch, turning his back to Cas. “We’ve been trying to fight this on our own.” It sounded as if Dean was forcing every word out between his teeth. “But it hasn’t been enough. We need you. It’s time for you to come back and face this thing.”

The tense silence between them lasted only a few beats when it was interrupted by the trill of Dean’s cell phone. He checked the screen and then frowned. Accepting the call, he answered, “Benny?”

Cas could hear the frantic tenor of Benny’s voice across the line. “I’m sorry, brother, I tried to hold ‘em off but they got the jump on me.”

Cas and Dean met eyes, twin looks of dread. “What happened?” Dean asked, flipping Benny to speakerphone.

“Two people just came through the passage. Lucifer’s people. They must’ve caught your scent somehow.”

“How could you let them follow you?” Cas shouted at Dean, frantic.

Dean shot him a scorching look. “Well, y’know, Cas. Not to be a broken record, but they wouldn’t have been able to follow me if I wasn’t out here crossing dimensions to see my husband and son!”

“Not to break up your domestic,” Benny’s voice cut through, “But they’re coming for you and it won’t be long.”

Before Benny could say any more, or Dean and Cas could argue further, there was a thud and a creaking groan from the house’s entrance—someone was attempting to get in through the front door.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swore, hanging up the call. “Go tell the kids not to move. Ward the room if it’s possible and then get your ass back down here. At least Benny said there’s only two of them…”

Cas didn’t need to be told twice; he rushed back to Jack’s room. He found a worried-looking Claire already coming to the door.

“What’s that noise?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Stay here,” Cas said by way of an answer. He looked over Claire’s head and saw Jack still in bed, all traces of sleep gone from his face. “Watch your brother. I’m going to try and ward the room as best I can, but if anything happens, you take Jack and you get to Benny. He’ll be able to help you. Do you understand?”

Claire only considered arguing for a split second, before she nodded. Turning back to Jack, she offered a wavering smile. “Looks like some zombies are coming to eat our brains,” she joked, lacklusterly. Cas saw her climbing into bed with Jack and pulling him into her side as he shut the door. From the front of the house, there was another solid-sounding crash and the sound of Dean’s cursing.

Cas pushed everything out of his mind and focused solely on his magic. There was the tremor of it, in his chest, eddying close to his heart. Any other day in the mortal world and he would hardly be able to sense it. But this was Halloween. It wouldn’t be his full capacity but it should be enough to keep the kids safe. He tapped into that emotion, the desperate need for Claire and Jack to go unharmed, and let the magic do the rest. He could feel as it worked, weaving a protective ward over the door, windows, and full perimeter of Jack’s room. There was the faintest shimmer of blue that pulsed around the door.

Cas reached the font of the house just as the front door crashed in, a hail of splintered wood and glass. Stepping through the space was what Cas assumed was one of Lucifer’s followers, though he looked like nothing more than your average college student. Floppy hair and slight build, but something manic and triumphant on his face.

Dean leapt on him, taking him to the floor.

Cas moved to the side table where he kept a blade, just in case. Before he could go to Dean’s aid, though, there was the sound of shattering glass from the living room. He scrambled there and saw another follower. She wore no mask of wild glee, though. Her eyes were dull, her mouth slack, and as she moved toward Cas, he recognized her.

Madison. Maddie. Cas could see her twenty years ago, barely a teenager and shyly walking beside Sam Winchester in town. Neither of them had been aware of the infatuation they shared for each other. She was a funny, bright girl who grew up to have a successful career in interpreting law through magic. She had helped when Cas and Dean went through the adoption processes for Claire and Jack. She was a friend. And now here she was, breaking into his house and advancing on him.

In Cas’s haze of surprise, Madison got the upperhand. She knocked him off balance, caught him against the wall, and pressed her hand into his throat. Cas struggled against her hold and locked eyes with her. He hoped there might be some way she would recognize him and he could break through whatever spell was controlling her. But there was nothing there, just as Dean had said.

Lungs burning, Cas shifted his weight enough to launch a powerful kick at Madison’s stomach. She went sprawling and he dropped to the ground, heaving in breaths. In the tussle, he had dropped his knife and now he cast about the floor for it. In the hall, Dean gave a yell that Cas thought was victorious.

Just as Cas found the handle of his blade, Madison’s boot stepped down on his knuckles. “Please,” he tried, “Maddie, you know me. It’s Castiel Winchester.” There was no response; not even a flicker of recognition over her face. “You know my children. You wouldn’t want to hurt them. I know you’re in there, somewhere—”

Madison aimed a kick at Cas’s head and caught his jaw, sending him reeling. He regained himself quickly, though, and saw Dean drawing his shoulders up, gathering some magical power behind the strike he landed across Madison’s face. She stumbled back, blood gushing from her nose.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, scrambling to straddle over Madison and hold her down. “Knife!” Without thinking, Cas tossed it his way.

Madison flailed as much as she could, face still eerily calm, as Dean hefted the knife above his head. He paused, eyes on Madison’s face. It was only a breath, and then he plunged the blade into her chest. She let out a gasping, choked cry and then went still.

“Fuck,” Dean said, hands loose at his sides and eyes closed.

“That’s Madison!” Cas cried out, struggling to his feet. “She—”

“I know,” Dean answered, getting to his feet and passing a hand over his face. There was a ragged clawmark over his neck and gash at his hairline but otherwise he looked mostly together. “She’s one of them. One of Lucifer’s puppets. I told you, we don’t know how to cure them. We don’t know how to bring them back. We don’t… All we can do...”

Cas knew Dean was justifying killing her to himself as much as he was to Cas. One hand cupping his aching jaw, Cas let the other fall to Dean’s shoulder. He felt as his husband, this good man, inhaled deeply and braced himself. “I understand,” Cas said softly. He was still adjusting to the fact that their friends were being used against them, but he understood. It came down to the lives of their children, and there was no question where he and Dean laid on that issue. They would do whatever it took.

“That's all right?” Dean asked, reaching out for Cas’s throat but stopping short. There must have been fingerprint bruises starting to form there, where Madison had choked him.

Cas moved his hand from his jaw to around his neck. It was tender to the touch but didn’t hurt too much to swallow. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Cas said. Nothing was hurt so bad that it wouldn’t heal eventually. He and Dean, for all their years at a distance, still worked well together. Well enough to defend their house, their family, each other.

Internally, though, Cas was still warring with what happened, with the body that lay on his living room floor. Madison. Maddie. An innocent who hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t joined up with Lucifer and his crusade. She had just been used. And there were others on the other side, just like her. Their friends, faces they knew and loved…

And more would come across the passage. Two had gotten the jump on Benny, more could do the same. They had been lucky it was only two this time… But there could already be dozens of them, or more, hiding out on the mortal plane already. Even after the passageway closed, there was no guarantee that they would be safe. If Lucifer’s followers knew where they were, Cas and Jack might as well be back in Saint’s Hallow.

He met Dean’s eyes. _They might as well be back in Saint’s Hallow._ A fear so deeply instinctual it felt like it was a part of his magic rolled through Cas. He would be bringing Jack back to Saint’s Hallow, back to the center of the fight. He would be bringing Jack into the orbit of a man hellbent on using him in some manic quest for power and authority. But if they weren’t safe in Salem anymore, was there much difference?

Around them, the home Cas had built so carefully lay in tatters. Bay window shattered, door kicked in, furniture broken, bodies bruised. All that could be fixed, of course, but the sense of safety would never be able to be repaired. They would never be able to feel home again, in Salem.

“Dean,” Cas said softly, eyes trailing up from Madison’s bloody corpse to his husband’s face. There was something like pain in Dean’s expression and Cas loved him as much as he had when they were children, as he had when they married, as he had the night he slipped away from Saint’s Hallow. “All right.” Cas’s shoulder dropped.

Dean reached out and Cas could feel the gentle warmth of his palm cupping the back of his head. Fingers stroking through his dark hair. Cas leaned back, in the touch, took the moment of comfort. “Let’s go back home.”

Clearing his throat, Cas forced himself away from Dean’s touch, away from Dean, toward the back hall to collect their children. It was late, already. They had to get moving.


	2. Chapter 2

_Four years ago.  
_Lafitte’s Diner sat on a back road about two miles off Route 107. The old pick-up Cas had bought at a used lot a few months ago rattled and bounced on the potholes littered about the ill-lit, crumbling street. On either side, there was nothing but dense trees belonging to the outskirts of Salem Wood. He hadn’t past anything in minutes – not a storefront, a house, not even a forest information center.

But, just up ahead, a dim fluorescent sign advertising the diner was sticking up out of the cracked tar of a parking lot. The bulbs inside flickered, seemingly about to give up whatever life was left in them. On any other day, they might have been fine. Not on Halloween.

Cas could feel the charge of electricity from the veil crackling under his skin. It drew from every energy source around it, and would continue to do so until it closed at 3am – just five hours from now. Cas’s truck puttered along, coughing and slow to accelerate the closer he got to the portal.

It was tempting to bypass the diner altogether and drive straight through the portal, to go back home. He could practically hear it calling to him. But he couldn’t go home – not now. Maybe, the pit in his stomach knew, never. Besides, Benny probably already sensed Cas’s arrival at the veil. He would have alerted Dean to it by now. He and Dean had always been closer than Cas and Benny had been, before Benny left Saint’s Hallow to guard the portal into the mortal world.

Still, Cas hadn’t been surprised when, earlier that day, he received a call from an unknown number. Benny’s dulcet voice had been on the other end, functioning only to relay a message from Dean. “Come to the diner. 10pm. We need to talk.”

Cas had been both looking forward to and dreading this moment all year. Best case scenario: Dean would be there with Claire, their bags packed, ready to start their life in the mortal world. Worst case: Dean would tell Cas to stay gone.

Cas white-knuckled the steering wheel as he turned into the parking lot, knowing the latter was a lot more likely.

He drove around the gas pumps in front of the diner and parked next to the only other vehicle in the lot. The lights from within the squat building reflected off the Impala’s pristine metal. Cas paused for a moment before getting out of the car, looking at Dean’s baby. He remembered riding in the passenger seat, Dean’s arm slung around his shoulders, rock and roll blasting out of the stereo and flying out the open windows to be lost in the miles behind them.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Cas got out of his pick-up. He shivered against the blast of chilled autumn air, wrapping his coat around him while he ascended the front steps of the diner. A bell jingled overhead when he opened the door, needlessly signaling his entrance. The pale green-tinted lights washed out the red vinyl booths and linoleum tabletops. The entire restaurant smelled of grease and burgers.

There were only two people inside. One of them was Benny. He was behind the counter, leaning on his palms pressed into the surface, a rag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a filthy apron. He glanced up, light eyes kind as they connected to Cas’s. He gave a halfhearted smile. Cas got the impression that he’d just walked in on two people talking about him.

He barely noticed it, anyway. His eyes were on the man sitting on the stool across from Benny. Dean didn’t turn around, but his shoulders beneath his familiar, beaten leather jacket had tensed up. There was a plate of pie in front of him, but all he did was push the gooey apples around with his fork.

Steeling himself by pulling his shoulders back, Cas walked up to the counter. He tried for a smile directed at Benny, but he didn’t think it reached his eyes. For that matter, it didn’t even reach his lips. “Benny,” he greeted.

“Hey there, Castiel. Long time,” Benny told him.

Cas nodded. “How’s Andrea?” Years ago, when Benny first became the guardian to the veil, he’d journeyed to the mortal world - the first wiccan to have done so in generations - and had fallen in love with a human. He chose to live here, with her, so they could be together. Cas only hoped, before he’d arrived, Benny had reminded Dean of that story. Perhaps he even managed to inspire Dean, or at least convince him to give the moral world a try.

“Runnin’ me ragged,” Benny said, smile turning genuine. Cas was happy for him, but he wasn’t certain how to respond. The conversation dropped off when Benny didn’t offer any more details.

Cas figured he couldn’t stall anymore. He looked down at Dean. Dean glanced up, and any hope of him coming to live in the mortal world came crashing down around Cas’s ears.

“Hello, Dean,” he tried to say. It hardly came out as a whisper.

Dean’s eyes were dull, expressionless, like they sometimes got when he was feeling too many emotions at once and trying desperately to stamp them all down. His voice was rough when he spoke: “That all you got to say for yourself?”

Cas’s shoulders dropped. This conversation was already much different than the reunion he’d pictured.

“I think I’ll give you boys some space,” Benny muttered before excusing himself through the door to the kitchen. Neither Dean nor Castiel so much as glanced at him. They were staring at each other, and Cas tried not to put any heat behind it. But, already, his frustration was mounting. He didn’t want to argue, as inevitable as it seemed.

“Where’s the kid?” Dean demanded after a moment. “Huh? Where’s my son?”

Cas sat heavily in the stool next to him, the padded cushion sinking slowly under his weight. “At home. With a sitter.”

“No, he’s not _home_ , Cas,” Dean said through his teeth. “I’d say he’s pretty damn far from home!”

He said it like Castiel didn’t know that – like he couldn’t feel the pull of Saint’s Hallow in his bones, so close to the rift that he could touch it. He understood Dean’s ire, and he didn’t blame Dean for wanting to get out a year’s worth of aggression; but Dean wasn’t the only one with dark circles under his eyes from hundreds of sleepless nights. Building a life from nothing in a totally new dimension, away from everything and everyone he’d ever known, hadn’t exactly been easy, especially when done alone. But it had been necessary.

Cas crowded into him, anger winning over. “What would you like me to do? Bring Jack back to a world where he’ll be hunted? Taken?”

“I'd have _liked_ you to not abandon your family,” Dean spat back, and now his gaze was overcome with emotion. He jabbed a finger in front of Cas’s face. “You left. _You_ left – and you did it at the last possible second before the veil closed so I wouldn’t be able to talk you out of it. So don’t sit there and give me the attitude, Cas. I don’t need it.”

Cas tried to stay strong, to hold his husband’s stare. He couldn’t. His eyes flickered downward, anger fizzling to nothing. The exhaustion of the last year washed over him. “I wanted you to come with me, Dean. You don’t know how much I wanted that.”

Dean’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “Then why’d you leave in the middle of the night?”

He already knew the answer. Cas had taken a breath to speak, but nothing came out. All he had lined up were excuses, anyway, no matter how good they were. “I didn’t have a choice,” he tried. “I know they’re still after him, Dean. How many times have Lucifer’s followers been back looking for Jack?”

When his gaze snapped back up, he found Dean’s jaw locked. He waited as long as it took for Dean to say, tone clipped, “Yeah, well, they left pretty quick after they realized Jack was gone. Even tried to get me to tell them where you went.”

Cas’s heart leapt, panic setting in. “Did you tell them?”

Dean withered, expression hardening again. “ _Seriously_?”

Shame snaked through Cas’s gut. He should have known better than to ask.

“Cas, it’s over,” Dean told him in no uncertain terms. “It’s time to come home. You’ve made your point, okay?” Cas scoffed wetly. _What point is that_ , he wanted to ask. But Dean kept talking, “But it’s like I told you before – me, you, and Sam, we’ll figure it out. We’re stronger together, you know that. So, let’s go. Right now. And, hell, maybe it’s not even too late to make sure Claire doesn’t grow up to totally hate you.”

Cas closed his eyes tightly to stop them from welling. It felt like there was a boulder sitting on his chest, and the mentions of Claire’s name only made it heavier. He asked the question he’d wanted to from the instant he walked into the diner: “How is she?”

“Pissed!” Dean shouted at once, baring his teeth. Cas didn’t know if he was talking about Claire or if he was just projecting. “Confused. Betrayed. I can keep going.”

“No, I -” Cas deflated. He’d heard enough, even if he deserved to be berated more. Leaving Claire had been the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. He tried to take comfort in the fact that she and Dean had each other. But knowing for sure he’d hurt her – hearing it confirmed – was more than he thought he could bear.

As if he’d sensed that, Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said, clearly trying to calm himself. This conversation likely wasn’t what he’d anticipated, either. He swiveled his stool to face Cas, their knees knocking. He took Cas’s hands in his own, and Cas very nearly sobbed at the contact.

It was _Dean_. Dean’s touch. Dean’s hands. The current of magic in Dean’s fingertips a balm to Cas’s veins. He truly hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d missed him.

“I get it, Cas, okay?” Dean was saying. “You’re scared. But this – it isn’t the answer. You get that, right? You don’t belong here. Neither does Jack. You belong with your family.” He reached up with one hand to cradle Cas’s jaw. Cas’s breath caught in his throat. “Cas. Sweetheart… Come home. I’m begging, okay? It’s not too late. We can go get Jack and leave together.”

Cas closed his eyes. He couldn’t see the naked vulnerability on Dean’s face. He couldn’t allow his resolve to weaken, no matter how difficult it was to maintain. “Dean…”

“Come home with me.”

“No, Dean,” Cas forced himself to say. “I can’t. Not while Jack’s still in danger.” Dean’s face fell, something behind his eyes crashing and burning. He ripped his hands away like he’d touched fire. Cas hurried to say, “But we can still be together. Go get Claire and bring her here. We can live in this world together.”

Dean licked his lips and faced front again. The corners of his lips turned down in a jagged frown. He nodded and ran his palm down his mouth, sniffing into it.

“You can ask Sam to come, too, if you don’t want to leave him behind,” Cas added, even though he knew he was just wasting his breath. He didn’t understand why Dean wouldn’t just consider it.

“You know you’re not fixing the problem, right?” Dean lectured. “You’re just sweeping it under the rug.”

“No, I’m being _safe_. Excuse me for not being willing to charge into a fight without a plan.”

“Oh, yeah? And what happens when Lucifer’s people find a way to get Jack here, huh? How _safe_ will you be then?” Dean countered. “Because you and I both know he’s not gonna stop. All because of this bullshit fucking prophecy that _isn’t even real_!” He shouted the last part, voice booming off the walls of the diner. Cas was surprised the windows hadn’t shattered under the impact.

“It doesn’t matter what we think,” Cas reasoned. “Lucifer thinks it’s real. As long as he does, Jack needs to remain hidden.” Why couldn’t Dean understand that? Why couldn’t he just _listen_?

Dean scoffed, shaking his head petulantly. “So, what? This is it? We just go our separate ways? You never see Claire again. I never see Jack. You and me never -” He stopped short with a sharp inhale.

“I don’t know,” he said. Desperately, he tried to divine a way to stop that from happening, to find a way to keep them all together. But he only knew of one way, and Dean wasn’t willing to do it. “Dean, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Dean locked eyes with him, and Cas wished he knew what he was thinking. Or maybe he didn’t. Whatever it was, Cas was sure it would break his heart.

“Hope you don’t mind me sticking my nose where it don’t belong,” came a voice from behind Castiel. He glanced over his shoulder to find Benny poking his head through the door. Benny opened the door wider and sauntered back out behind the counter. “But it sounds to me like you two need a neutral third party.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I think we need more than that,” he muttered.

“Well, couple’s therapy ain’t my area of expertise, brother,” Benny said, “but I think I may have a solution to your problem.”

Dean sat up a little straighter. Cas pulled his brows together, hope cautiously blooming in his chest. Why hadn’t Benny said anything before? “You know a way of stopping Lucifer?”

Benny’s expression went sympathetic. He shook his head. “No, nothin’ like that. But I do have a rift between this world and the next that opens every Halloween. I thought maybe you two might want to take advantage of that. I mean, heck, what’s the good in being buds with the keeper of the veil if you don’t get any perks, am I right? I won’t even make you pay the toll.”

Cas had absolutely no idea what he was getting at. He only felt more perplexed. “There isn’t a toll to cross through the veil,” he said.

Next to him, Dean grunted, cheeks dimpling with annoyance. Cas belatedly realized Benny had been joking.

“He’s saying me and Claire can come use the portal to visit every Halloween,” Dean interpreted. Understanding dawned on Cas, but he still didn’t like the idea. But before he could voice that, Dean had already turned back to Benny. “That’s still a year apart, Benny. And that’s even longer back home than it is here. You know that.”

Benny shrugged out his hands. “It ain’t perfect, you got me there. But offer’s on the table.” He knocked his knuckles on the counter. “Take it or leave it.”

Cas and Dean looked at each other again. Benny was right: it wasn’t anywhere near the ideal solution, but it was _something_. At least, this way, Dean could still see Jack. Cas could see Claire. They’d still see each other.

It was clear by Dean’s expression that he didn’t like the plan, either. It left much to be desired, and the only thing it made Cas truly feel was hollow. But, for now, it was all they had.

“Yes,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes slipped closed, like he’d hoped Benny’s offer would have been some kind of ultimatum to return to Saint’s Hallow. “We’ll take it. Thank you, Benny.”

Benny nodded, smile tight. “Any time,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks, Benny,” Dean said, tone suggesting he didn’t actually mean it. He was just being polite. He reached into his jacket pocket and fished out his wallet. Benny shook out his hands. “Pie’s on the house.”

Dean hesitated momentarily before putting his wallet away. “Thanks,” he said again in a whisper.

And then there was nothing left to say. Cas and Dean left the diner together, stepping back out into the damp, mulch-scented October night. They stood in the parking lot between the Impala and Cas’ pick-up. Cas’s hands were in his coat pockets, partly to keep them from chapping in the cold, and partly to stop himself from reaching for Dean.

Dean toed at a crack in the asphalt with the toe of his boot. “So,” he said after a second, lifting his eyes.

Cas didn’t know what to say. “So.” Against his better judgment, he offered, “Jack will likely be asleep by the time I get home but… do you want to see him?”

Dean let out a bitter sound. He tossed his head back, his breath clouding around his mouth. “Yeah, I do. But it’ll just confuse him. Better if we wait till next year.”

That seemed eons away.

Dean asked, “How much does he know? About why you and him are here?”

Cas sighed. “I told him why we had to leave, that we were safer. I don’t think he fully understands but… he will.” He pressed his lips together. “I hope… you and Claire will understand, too.”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t look like he meant it. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas fisted his hands in his pockets. “Dean, I love you. Please know that.”

Dean swallowed. His eyes were glassy, reflecting the low light coming off the road sign advertising the diner. He didn’t say it back. Instead, he said the second best thing: “Next year, I’m coming here with that son of a bitch’s head on a spike, you hear me?”

Cas wanted to believe it. “I’d like that,” he said. “But promise me you won’t do anything needlessly reckless.”

“Or what?” Dean challenged, but there was the slightest hint of humor in his voice. “You’ll rip through space and time and come kick my ass?”

“If I have to.”

“You promise?”

Cas tried to smile. He wished he could cry instead, but he didn’t think his body would allow it. Dean must have seen it anyway. “Alright, c’mere,” he whispered, holding his arms out. Cas quickly took his hands out of his pockets and pressed himself against Dean. And, for a moment, as he breathed in Dean’s familiar scent, he wondered if he could change his mind about returning home, after all.

Dean kissed his temple, and Cas tilted his head up to catch Dean’s lips. He tasted exactly like Cas remembered.

“Okay,” Dean said when the kiss broke. Reluctantly, he stepped back. Cas almost shuddered against the windchill. “So, uh – See you in a year.”

Cas nodded. “A year,” he echoed.

He watched Dean slide into the Impala’s driver seat and close the door with a bang of finality. The engine rumbled into life, its sound familiar and sweet in its roaring brilliance. Dean put the car in reverse, the brake lights washing the parking lot in red.

Dean didn’t back up at first. He bent over to look at Cas. He lifted three fingers in a small goodbye wave. Cas brought his hand up to wave back, wondering just how miserable he must have looked.

He stood there as Dean backed up with a crunch of wheels on gravel. The Impala bounced onto the road, headed in the opposite direction from where Cas would go. The electricity in the air crackled, almost becoming audible. Up ahead, a jagged, vertical line appeared in the middle of the street, its light intense. The glow of Benny’s sign flickered completely off.

Dean drove straight for the rift. When he reached it, Cas had to wince and look away, the light had become so bright. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in total darkness, both the veil and the Impala gone, Dean along with them.

_Present day.  
_The journey over the leyline was just as nauseating as Cas remembered. He’d been so preoccupied by ensuring Jack’s eyes were closed against the flashpan burst of white light, and that his head was between his knees to combat against the dizzying, falling sensation, like turbulence on a plane, that he hadn’t done any of it himself. He was left blinking stars out of his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the wooziness of the shaking. The sudden onslaught of daylight wasn’t helping.

“It’s over, buddy, you can look up now,” he heard Dean say through clogged ears. Dean was looking in the Impala’s rear view mirror at Jack, who tentatively lifted himself back into a seated position.

Cas swiveled to look at the children in the backseat. “Are you alright?”

Claire snorted, appearing completely unfazed by the portal’s effects. “I’ll live.”

Apparently, Jack hadn’t even heard the question. His nose was practically squished against the window, hands leaving smudges on the glass. “Whoa!” he called. “Papa, look!”

Cas turned forward again and got his first look at Saint’s Hallow in five years. Currently, they were on the highway leading into town. Behind them was a stretch of road - two lanes lined by tall, dense woodland on either side. The forest was on fire with reds and oranges, not a speck of green in sight. The road seemed to go on forever, but it was only an illusion. It ended just a few feet behind them, with a portal to the mortal world, now completely invisible except for the blurry, swimming air above the asphalt, like heat waves. Cas could still feel the power radiating off of it as static under his fingertips.

The real sight lay before them. Dean drove into the town limits, past the welcome sign - a monolith in the shape of a jack-o-lantern, the words, _Welcome to Saint’s Hallow, population 3,270_ , in black, bold letters. The jack-o-lantern’s jagged smile stretched wider, and one eye winked at them, making Jack gasp in delight. Cas had never particularly liked the sign. He found it unnerving.

Saint’s Hallow was right over the incline, the buildings rising up from the earth itself as the Impala crested the hill. The town hall’s clock tower appeared first, followed by the neat rows of shops and houses. From afar, it was a town like any other. In fact, it could have been Salem, with its colonial architecture and traditional features. The buildings were made of stone, brick, and slated white-painted wood. A creek twisted through the town, feeding into a river just beyond the tree line. Iron lamp posts lined the busy sidewalks. Cars zipped around on cobbled streets.

Only when one got closer, would they realize the town was magic.

Because the shops were filled with things like broomsticks and cauldrons, spellbooks and talismans, eye of newt and blind-worm; things like stardust. The flames in the streetlamps flickered multicolor - orange and blue and red, just as well as greens and purples. The river was always the perfect temperature for swimming and the creek never froze over, even in the winter - except, of course, whenever anyone was in the mood for ice skating. Castiel thought back to an afternoon many years ago, when snowflakes were twinkling as they fell to accumulate in soft pillows on the earth, and Dean had whisked him away to go skating, just the two of them. Cas always loved winter in Saint’s Hallow.

As they drove through town, Castiel squinted at the masses of people going about their day. There were men and women in embroidered suits and satiny, flowing dresses. Children in pointed hats scampered around, their hands full of caramel apples and chocolate. One family with a young daughter was coming out of the familiar’s shop, the girl nuzzling her cheek against her new black kitten. Small jack-o-lanterns were in every window and, in the grassy square just outside the town hall, a giant version sat proudly.

The full moon was just behind the hall’s clock tower. It was large and full, a fixture in the sky even in the daylight, as it always had been. Cas could practically feel its gravitational pull, just as clearly as he felt the low hum of magic rushing just beneath the top layer of his skin. It began the moment they came out of the portal and grew as they got closer to town. Now that they were in the heart of Saint Hallow’s, it was almost overwhelming. There had been a time where he hadn’t even noticed it was there - because it was all he knew. That magic. It might as well have been his heart beat.

“Is the town like this for Halloween?” came Jack’s wonderstruck voice from the backseat. It knocked Cas out of his thoughts.

“It’s like this all the time,” Claire told him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth as she watched her brother take in the sights.

“Welcome home, kid,” Dean added. Jack’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

Cas looked down at his lap, tensing his fists to adjust to the pins and needles. He wondered how much Jack remembered of the town - if anything at all. As for himself, the town was _exactly_ how he remembered. Twelve-hundred mortal years and Saint’s Hallow had never changed; and then, after only five, everything had.

Or no. Maybe it was just Castiel that had changed.

He could feel Dean’s gaze on him. Dean never looked at him for long - just quickly and out of the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t human instinct telling Cas that, because he was also aware of the way Dean’s pulse had picked up, despite his cool exterior. He’d always been connected to Dean, especially on this plane of existence, and he’d never forgotten it. He felt it constantly, usually by its absence.

“Alright, Sammy’s gonna meet us at the house,” Dean said. Cas didn’t ask how he knew that. When they were very young, the Winchester brothers had discovered a way to communicate telepathically, even at long distances. But, even if they didn’t have such an ability, Cas was sometimes certain Sam and Dean would be able to read each other’s minds, anyway. They always had been on a wavelength of their own.

“Okay,” Cas said. His knuckles were white, tendons on the back on his hands bulging, as he squeezed his fists tighter. He was looking forward to seeing Sam again. And, at the same time, he wasn’t. He hadn’t spoken to Sam in years and, despite Dean’s grumbling assurances otherwise, he feared the younger Winchester would hate him for leaving with Jack without saying goodbye.

The Impala continued to weave through the town, attracting looks wherever it went. The citizens of Saint’s Hallow knew this car very well. Much like the Novaks, the Winchesters were of a long, very powerful line of witches. Over a thousand years ago, the two families had played an important part of shielding Saint’s Hallow from the mortal world, creating a dimension all of its own to protect the people - and to protect the mortals from those magic users who wished them harm. Such witches of the old days had been long since banished for their crimes, but there were still some with that mindset who remained. Like Lucifer.

Dean pulled the car to the curb and put it into park. “I just gotta stop in here and get a few things first.”

Castiel hadn’t expected a side-trip. His attention flickered behind Dean, to the storefront outside the car. It specialized in ingredients of potions, but it also sold a few pre-brewed potions, mostly novelty items that didn’t really work. Castiel remembered being not much older than Claire when he purchased a love potion from that shop. He’d tried to give it to Dean, who caught him red handed. Dean had only laughed it off and told him he was an idiot. And then Dean had kissed him. It was a child’s kiss - a swift, sloppy peck on the lips - but it had been their first.

“You wanna come in?” Dean asked, brows popping. “You could say hi to Garth. He took over the place from his dad a few years ago.”

Cas’ stomach twisted, and he wanted to blame that on the after-affects of the portal instead of a lack of courage. He wasn’t ready to see anyone else yet.

“No,” he said simply.

Dean’s expression shuttered momentarily, but he dipped his chin in a nod. “Suit yourself. I’ll be right back.” The Impala’s door creaked as he got out. Castiel watched him disappear into the shop.

He dropped his shoulders in a sigh, sitting heavily against his seat. Half a moment later, Claire’s arms folded over the back of the bench seat. She rested her chin on her wrist. “Hey,” she said, voice low, as if she didn’t want Jack to hear her. Jack was in his own little world, anyway, enamored by his people-watching. “You doing okay?”

Cas thinned his lips and forced a tight smile. She shouldn’t have been worried about him. “Yes. Thank you.”

“‘Cause, if you’re gonna puke, Dad’ll be pissed if you ruin the upholstery.”

It was a bit easier to find his smile that time. He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. She reminded him so much of Dean at that age. He looked back at her, into a set of blue eyes identical to his own. “I’m fine, Claire.” He told himself it was true. He just needed to adjust.

Claire didn’t seem to buy it, but he slid back into her own seat, sliding down low and wedging her knees behind Cas’ back. He shook his head, turning fully to tell her to sit straight, but something stopped him. In the rear window, far outside of town, he spotted a gray and black mass of clouds. It swirled around in the sky, as though a tornado was brewing, but it remained in the same spot. Cas realized it was above the place where the portal to the mortal world rested.

“Stay in the car,” he told the children before opening his door and stepping out. He pulled his brows together as he got a better look at the mass. The longer he stared, the more he became aware of the darkness creeping into his limbs. It felt like ice water slowly seeping into his skin, nothing like the warm twingle he’d felt before. This was powerful magic; evil magic. He couldn’t stop staring, no matter how he tried to.

“Cas?”

Castiel ripped his eyes away, startled, as he found Dean over the roof of the Impala.

“Dean,” he said, suddenly breathless. “What is that?”

Dean’s lips pinched as he cast a wary half-glance toward the mass. He said, “Part of the problem.” He didn’t elaborate. All he did was yank open the driver’s side door. “Get in. I’ll explain at home.”

Cas nodded. He kept his eyes down, trying his best to keep them from the mass. But they were drawn there anyway - moths to a flame. He climbed back into the car and looked back at the kids. They were fine. Jack was still in awe of his surroundings. Claire gave him a knowing glance but didn’t say anything.

He sat forward, clocking the brown bag from the shop Dean had set on the seat between them. Dean turned the key in the ignition and put the car back into drive.

The Winchester house was a few miles outside of the town center. It was a symmetrical two-floor colonial structure made of white clapboards. Dark shingles covered three dormers and a gabled roof with detailed eaves. Decorative shutters adorned the windows. A half-circle driveway sat behind a gate, leading up to the elaborate entrance door flanked by two pillars. The green grass of the lawn was browning as the seasons changed, and it was littered with fallen leaves from the massive white cedar. The house sat on a little under an acre of land, two similarly styled homes on either side.

It had been the house the Winchesters had lived in for generations and, after their parents passed away, the responsibility fell to Dean. Sam had lived in it for a time as well, before Dean and Cas were married, and then moved out to a house not far away.

Dean opened the gate with a wave of his hand and pulled the Impala to the front of the house. Cas had barely taken his eyes off the upstairs window on the right side of the house. It was Jack’s old bedroom. He tried not to remember what had happened there, why he’d left for the mortal world.

“Home sweet home,” Dean said, but his heart wasn’t in it. Cas gave him a quick look before Dean grabbed the paper bag on the seat and got out of the car. As soon as Cas climbed out, too, he could feel the protective power radiating off the house. He squinted toward one of the windows next to the door and spotted a faintly glowing sigil on the bottom corner of the glass. It was the same spell they’d put on the house the night Lucifer came for Jack, but he could feel the elements that Dean had added on over the years. He could feel how meticulously Dean had maintained the spell.

The Impala’s trunk opened with an ancient creak, and Dean shouldered the duffle bag Cas had quickly thrown together for Jack before they left Salem. It was packed haphazardly with a couple – likely mismatched – changes of clothes, Jack’s toothbrush and Flintstone vitamins, and a few toys he’d throw a fit without.

Without a word, Dean walked around Cas to the front door. He pulled his key out of his pocket. Meanwhile, Cas glanced behind him, finding Jack. His hand was in Claire’s, his head bent back to look up at the house. His brows were pinched in what looked like intense thought. Castiel wondered how much Jack remembered of the house – if this place would seem foreign or familiar, if Jack would tug on Cas’s hand in a few hours and innocently ask, “Papa, when are we going home?”

If that did happen, Cas just hoped Dean wouldn’t be around to hear it. It would break his heart.

“You comin’ or what?” Dean called, and Cas looked around to find the door unlocked, Dean propping it open with his boot.

Cas prepared himself for the slew of memories bound to hit him upon entering the house, and walked forward. The entranceway was just as he remembered it – coat rack, mirror, and mud bench still in place. He’d never liked that bench. It looked like it had termites. But it was a family heirloom, just like every other damn piece of furniture in the house. Nothing had been updated in over a hundred years.

In front of him, Dean slid the duffle off his shoulder and set it on the bench. Cas frowned, hoping there really weren’t any termites.

“Come on, champ, let’s get this jacket off,” Claire said as the door swung closed behind them, blocking off the sunlight. Her tone of voice suggested she was talking to Jack and, when Cas looked at them, Claire was kneeling in front of her brother, undoing the buttons of his coat.

Dean had already paced ahead, past the set of stairs leading up to the bedrooms, past the entrance to the living room. As he went, he called, “Yo, Sammy? You here?”

“In here!” Sam’s voice came, slightly muffled by the walls.

Cas hastened after Dean, catching up just in time for him to turn into the library and say, “Hey. Find anything?”

Sam was sitting at the table, his shoulders hunched over, his back facing them. There was a large book open in front of him and a stack of others set to the side. He didn’t look over his shoulder when he said, “Yeah, a whole lot of nothing.”

Dean paced further into the room and rounded the corner of the table, placing himself in front of Sam. Cas stayed in the doorway, giving them some space. He watched Sam sigh heavily and fall back against his chair. “I’ve been working on figuring out what spell Lucifer’s using to control people.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , as far as I can tell, there’s isn’t a spell that allows anybody to completely make someone else do something they don’t want to do. And, if there were, it would wear off in like, a minute. Since you left, I’ve been through _every_ book I’ve got - _again_ \- and half dad’s old library here, but so far there’s -” He blew out his cheeks and tossed up a hand in an aborted motion. It slapped back down to the dry pages of the old book.

Dean deflated. “Yeah, well, there’s gotta be something.”

Sam snorted dryly. And then, “Hey, why did you come back, anyway? I wasn’t expecting you for another couple days. What, did Cas kick you out?” He said it in the tone that Cas remembered as his _annoying little brother_ voice, according to Dean. Perhaps it would have made him laugh if the words hadn’t been a punch to the gut.

Other than that, he’d assumed Dean had told Sam about Cas and Jack’s arrival. Apparently, he was wrong.

Dean frowned, shrugging. “No exactly.” His eyes flashed behind Sam, connecting with Cas’s. He held the stare. It took a second for Sam to shift. He looked over his shoulder, and then stood up completely. Cas broke away from Dean’s gaze and got his first look at Sam. If it was at all possible, Cas would have sworn Sam had gotten even taller. His shoulders were broader, face a little thinner, hair somewhat longer. He was healthy and whole.

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered like he couldn’t believe his eyes. He ducked his head a little. “ _Cas_?”

“Surprise,” Dean gruffly interjected.

Cas gave a half-hearted smile. He was certain Sam would blame him for everything that had happened. “Hello, Sam.”

“You’re back.”

Cas took a step further into the room, not knowing what else to do other than shrug. “It would appear so.”

Sam let out a heavy breath, and it sounded more like a laugh of disbelief than an angered scoff. The barest of smiles pulled at his lips, and something like hope sparked inside of Cas.

Dean broke the moment by saying, “Yeah, two of Lucifer’s goons followed me and Claire through the portal. They jumped us.”

Worry flickered over Sam’s face. “What? But… Jack?”

As though on cue, scampering footsteps sounded outside the door. Jack came in and wrapped his arms around Cas’s leg. Cas looked down at him, glad he had eyes on the boy again, before casting a glance over his shoulder at Claire. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sam took in a sharp breath. His eyes were on Jack, and his forehead was wrinkled. He appeared nervous. He never breathed out.

Cas also held his breath, too. If Jack didn’t recognize Sam – didn’t know him except as a man from Dean’s stories – Sam would be devastated. Silence fell over the room as Jack turned his head forward. There was a long second into which nothing happened.

And then, “Uncle Sam!”

Jack unlatched from Cas’s leg and ran across the room. The trepidation on Sam’s expression collapsed, rearranging into relief. He pulled the chair out of the way and dropped to his knees. Jack ran right into his arms, and Sam rested his chin on his nephew’s head, closing his eyes tight.

The two of them had always been close. It seemed, from birth, Jack had latched onto Sam. His first steps had even been toward the front door one morning, toward Sam’s voice calling, “Anybody home?”

Cas never once regretted taking Jack away from Saint’s Hallow and from the threat of Lucifer; but, every day, he regretted separating Jack from his family. From Dean and Claire, of course – but also from Sam.

When the hug broke, Sam held on to Jack’s shoulders to get a look at him. His eyes were red, and he sniffed, but there was a smile on his face. “You’re getting so big,” he marveled.

“I’m four-foot three,” Jack announced proudly. “Papa measured me against the wall last week!”

Sam nodded in a circular motion, clearly trying to get his emotions in check. “Four-foot three? Wow! You’re gonna be taller than me soon.”

Jack giggled at that. Cas glanced at Dean, who was gazing down at the two of them with a look on his face that was half-contentedness and half-pain. As for Castiel, all he felt of the two emotions was the latter. His temples were pounding, a pressure building behind his eyes.

“You should see Marvin!” Jack gasped excitedly. Marvin had been one of the toys Cas had shoved into the duffle.

Sam gave a perplexed look and echoed, “Marvin?”

“My teddy!”

Sam blinked, realization dawning on his face. “The-the one I gave you?”

Jack nodded wildly. “Yeah, come see!”

“Uh, Jack,” Cas said. He hated to break up the reunion, but there were more pressing matters. “Why don’t you bring Marvin and the rest of your things to your bedroom, and we’ll show Uncle Sam later? Claire will show you the way.”

Jack was momentarily despondent, but then he said cheerfully, “I remember where it is.”

That couldn’t have been right. “Are you sure?” Cas checked.

“Yes. I’ll be right back,” Jack answered matter-of-factly, and then rushed from the room to complete his task. Perhaps Cas had been wrong before. Jack seemed to recall more than he’d anticipated.

Cas turned back to Sam and Dean. Sam had gotten back to his feet, and the joy on his face had once again settled back into anxiety. Dean was telling him, “Okay, why don’t you call Rowena and tell her to get over here for a family meeting? In the meantime, me and Claire’ll juice up the protection spell over the house.” He pulled the brown bag from Garth’s shop out from his jacket pocket.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, sniffing in sharply again. He appeared in good spirits, which was nice to see. Cas had missed Sam’s usual optimism, even if he’d often found it misguided and overly-hopeful, perhaps sometimes even foolish. But he’d learned to trust Sam’s can-do approach to problem-solving over the years; mostly because he’d learned Sam had worked hard to beat that attitude into place with a sledgehammer.

As Dean made for the hall, he shot Cas a dark look – and he always did have the uncanny ability to make Cas feel like everything was his fault. Cas’s eyes flickered to the rug, assuming he could add Sam and Jack’s time apart to his list of sins.

“Claire,” Dean said. Claire uncrossed her arms and pulled off the doorframe, and the two of them disappeared down the hall together.

And then Cas was left alone with Sam. They stared across the room at each other for a while, and Cas flexed and balled his fingers at his sides. He had no idea what to say. The only thing he came up with to break the silence was, “You look well.”

Sam chuckled a little at that, but Cas wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, uh - thanks. I’m basically running on six cups of coffee, but…”

Cas kept waiting for him to finish that thought, but he left it hanging in the air, and Cas didn’t know what to say in return. It was awkward. Sam must have felt the same thing, because he pulled his phone out of his jeans, probably to call Rowena.

“I’ll just -” Cas ducked his head, meaning to turn around and leave him to it.

But then Sam called, “Oh, and uh – Cas? It’s good to have you back.”

Cas _really_ didn’t know how to respond to that. It made him feel both warm and cold at once. He pressed his lips together in a failed attempt to smile. And he left the room.

In the hall, he wondered if he should go find Jack, to ensure he actually did remember where his bedroom was, but he didn’t think he could go upstairs yet – not to the place where it all started, and certainly not to the master bedroom, where all he’d see is three sleeping bodies crowded together on the bed as he packed his bag. Even standing there in the hall was difficult. He glanced at the front door, recalling the first time he’d entered this home – his home – as Castiel Winchester. It felt like yesterday; it felt like a lifetime ago.

Instead, he turned toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Dean and Claire were inside, an iron cauldron, already boiling thanks to magic, was sitting on the stove. Dean was in front of it, pointing his finger at the pot and swirling it in a circle motion to stir the contents within. Claire was in front of the open pantry, pulling out herbs and elixirs.

“I think we’re out of quartz,” she said, standing on her toes and sticking her head further into the cabinet.

“No, we’re _not_ ,” Dean said, still focusing on the pot. Cas hung back in the threshold, watching them, wondering how long he could go unseen as they worked.

“Found it!” Claire then declared. She didn’t even look as she tossed the small, pebble-shaped crystal over her shoulder. Dean used magic to direct the quartz over the cauldron. It burst into a small cloud of fine powder and trickled down into the mixture.

“Do you have -?”

“Yup, coming at you,” Claire answered before tossing lemongrass over her shoulder. It was diced in midair before going into the pot.

The two of them continued on like that, working seamlessly together. They looked like they did this a lot, creating potions and brews – maybe even a typical breakfast – in unison.

Cas thought back to long ago, before the children were born – Dean flitting around the kitchen, making their dinner. Music would play from the stereo – always some mortal rock band that Dean had grown up listening to thanks to his parents. Dean would hum along. When he was very happy, he’d even sing, voice grating and off-tune and sweeter than honey to Cas’s ears.

And sometimes, when Dean was in a _very_ good mood, he wouldn’t even sing along to the music playing. He’d grab Cas by the waist and swing him in close, and Cas would pretend to put up a fight before easily relenting. And Dean would sing the same song against Cas’s cheek as they swayed together.

_Abra, abracadabra, I wanna reach out and grab ya._

And Castiel would stifle a laugh and weakly try to push him away whenever Dean’s lips would brush against his and form the words, _silk and satin, leather and lace, black panties with an angel’s face_.

Cas blinked out of the memory just in time for Dean to pick up the cauldron by the handles and take it off the stove. He turned around to set it on the island counter, having to heft it up slightly higher when Claire ducked in front of him on the way to the fridge.

Dean put the pot on the counter and glanced up, doing a double-take before his gaze landed fully on Cas. Cas shuffled a little in his shoes, feeling like he was caught red-handed for a crime he didn’t commit. “I, um,” he said, “wanted to see if you needed any help.”

Dean swiped a dish cloth off the counter and tossed it over his shoulder. “We’re good,” he said pointedly. Claire came back over with a vial of iridescent liquid from the fridge, and Cas had the notion that he’d interrupted their well-oiled machine.

“Protection potion starter. Dad came up with it,” Claire explained as Cas shot a quizzical look at the vial. She handed it to Dean, who uncorked it and poured the glowing contents into the cauldron.

“Yeah, well, it’s better than starting from scratch every time we need to charge the spell,” Dean said modestly.

Cas recalled something he’d come across on the internet not very long ago. One of Jack’s classmate’s mothers shared a link to a sourdough starter on the school’s parent-teacher page on Facebook. Cas stepped into the kitchen. “Like pinterest,” he said, shooting Claire a look. Claire shook her head, but she was clearly fighting back a laugh.

Dean pursed his lips. “Am I missing something?”

Before either Cas or Claire could call him out on definitely knowing about pinterest – and probably being an active user – Jack rushed into the kitchen. He whipped around Cas’s legs and ran right up to Claire and Dean. “Are you making a potion? I wanna help!”

Dean’s face lit up. “Well, buddy, we’re almost done – but, tell you what, we need one last ingredient to bind it all together. Think you can help me with that?”

Jack nodded vigorously, prompting Dean to crouch down to his level. Dean pointed up at a high shelf inside the pantry. “See that jar there that says boomslang venom? Think you can get that for me?”

Cas tensed, opening his mouth to protest. The last thing they needed was for Jack to climb up on the counter and accidentally break a jar of highly poisonous snake venom. But Jack beat him to it. “Daddy, I can’t reach that high.”

“Who said anything about reaching?” Dean goaded. He patted Jack on the back and added, “C’mon, you got this.”

Jack appeared uncertain. He looked at Dean before swinging his gaze toward Cas. It was clear he didn’t want to let Dean down, but Jack hadn’t used his powers in years. And even so, when he was a toddler, the abilities he did use were uncontrolled reflexes. He didn’t have training, even for something so simple.

Cas felt the need to come to his rescue. “Dean, I don’t think -”

“He’s got this,” Dean snipped. He put his hand on the back of Jack’s neck and gently turned the child’s head back to the cabinet. And there was so much of John Winchester in that motion, Cas knew he had to intervene.

Dean had worried about ending up like his father when Claire was born. The Dean Castiel knew would want him to put an end to this.

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “I… got this.” But he still sounded nervous. He pulled himself up to full height and stared hard at the jar. It took a moment before anything happened, but then, slowly, the jar started to rock back and forth. Cas tensed his jaw, feeling his nostrils flare in the movement. This wasn’t safe.

The jar lifted up, hovering about an inch from the shelf for a few seconds. It spun slowly and flipped over. Jack gave a frustrated sound – and the jar shot across the room. It slapped against Dean’s chest so hard, Cas thought for a moment it had cracked. But Dean only grunted and put his hand on it so it wouldn’t fall. Cas deflated in a sigh of relief.

“I did it!” Jack shouted.

Dean laughed, messing Jack’s hair. “See? Told ya. You’re still a natural.”

“Papa, did you see?” Jack called, nearly bouncing with excitement. Cas couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly at Jack’s reaction – until his eyes flickered to Claire. Her grin was dimmer, her eyes cast downward as she busied herself stirring the potion.

Sam squeezed into the kitchen behind Cas, announcing, “Rowena’s on her way. Should be here any second.”

“Uncle Sam, I moved the jar!” Jack declared as Sam met them at the counter.

“You _did_?” Sam asked happily.

Dean was measuring out the venom to pour into the potion. “Yeah, he did a hell of a job,” he said proudly.

Cas was proud, too – of course he was. But Jack had clearly struggled with even the most basic ability. By his age, it should have been as easy as breathing. And Cas had robbed him of that. He watched the four of them – his family – chatting and laughing, and Cas knew he’d taken much more than a magical education from Jack.

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand to be in the kitchen any longer. He needed a moment to collect himself, to steady his heart, to get control of the overwhelming sensation of magic under his skin again. He paced out into the hall, where it was only slightly easier to breathe. But _only_ slightly. This whole house was choked with memory – some unpleasant, yes, but most of them were good. Those hurt more than all the bad ones put together.

There was a knock at the front door, and Cas quickly turned his head in that direction. It could only be Rowena. Bracing himself for another reunion that he was in no way prepared for, he paced down the hall and opened the door. Rowena was still as vibrant as he recalled – from her bright purple eyeshadow to her vivid blue dress, from her shock of red hair to the flowing cloak over her shoulders. A bright, cat-like grin formed on her lips to reveal perfect teeth.

“Castiel, just as handsome as ever, I see,” she said in ways of a greeting. He’d forgotten that she tended to do that. It always left him floundering.

“Um. Hello, Rowena,” he stammered – not that it mattered. She was already gliding past him into the entrance, unbuttoning her cloak from around her shoulders as she did.

“Be a dear and hang this for me, will you?” As he took the garment from her, he noticed there was a bundle tucked securely under her arm. It was a book, wrapped in leather and tied tightly. There was power radiating off of it – ancient power, from the days before Saint’s Hallow when the wiccans still fought for their lives against the humans.

“You brought the Book of the Damned?” he asked incredulously. If they were resorting to that, things were more dire than Cas had imagined.

“Very observant. But don’t you worry, I bring good news. Well, depending on your outlook, I suppose. Now, where’s the boy?” She didn’t even give him a chance to answer before breezing down the hall, her heels clacking as she went.

Cas hurried to hang her coat and catch up. As he did, he heard Dean call from the kitchen, “Rowena?”

“Yes, yes. Coming.”

Cas stepped into the kitchen after her, and she gave a general, buoyant hello to the group as a whole before directing her attention to Jack. She gave an exaggerated gasp and bent over to be eye level with him. “Ach! Darling boy, the last time your Auntie Rowena saw you, you were just a wee thing. Look at how you’ve grown!” She pinched Jack’s teeth with two red-painted nails, and he seemed more amused than overwhelmed.

“Hello!” he greeted.

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” Dean cut in. “You told Sam you found something?”

Rowena straightened out, her cheerful demeanor now turned down a few notches. While she placed her bundle on the island counter, Jack walked up to Cas in the threshold and grabbed his hand, making a weak attempt to pull him further into the room.

“Aye,” Rowena was saying. “I believe so.”

“Is that the Book of the Damned?” Dean asked.

Jack gave Cas’s hand another tug and whispered up at him, “Daddy cussed.”

Cas gave him a half-hearted nod before bringing his attention back to the others. Rowena had taken off the leather covering. She flipped through a few pages until finally settling on one. Cas squinted, trying to read at the distance.

“So, we have two problems, yes? One: Lucifer is attempting to gain enough power to shatter the wall between worlds. Judging by the manifestation over the rift, I'd say he's close.” Cas thought back to the swirling black mass in the sky above the portal. “And two: he’s bending people to his will.” Both Sam and Dean nodded. “I think I found the spell that’s allowing him to control people.” She turned the book around, nudging it closer to the center of the counter.

Cas walked fully into the room. The page was upside down from his vantage point. He tilted his head, trying to get a better view.

“It’s a powerful spell from the Dark Ages. The Wiccan High Council banned it centuries ago,” Rowena explained. “That’s why it isn’t in any more recent texts, you see. How Lucifer got his hands on it, I don’t know. But the dead eyes of his victims – making them an empty shell? All the symptoms fit.”

Cas squeezed Jack’s hand a little tighter without meaning to. He glanced up at Dean across the counter, and found Dean already looking at him through his lashes.

“So, what’s the cure?” Sam asked.

Rowena gestured her palms out. “Well, there isn’t one,” she said, causing a bristle to go through the room. Before anyone could speak, she went on, “ _But_ – Lucifer’s power is connected to the portal, yes? He’s using most, if not all, of his and his followers’ magic to open it. So, _theoretically_ , if we choke that magic, we can break that connection, the hold he has over his victims with it.”

“Theoretically?” Dean echoed, latching onto that word. It was, admittedly, an important word.

“How do we do that?” Cas asked. “By closing the portal for good?” He wasn’t certain he liked that plan. All it would do was trap them – trap Jack – in the same dimension as Lucifer. It wasn’t much of a solution.

“Could we even do that?” Sam asked, scrunching his nose.

“Well, Samuel, if anyone can, it’s the witches in this room,” Rowena said confidentially. “Myself, two Winchesters, and a Novak’s magic? If the prophecy’s true, Jack may even be able to close it himself.”

From her lean on the counter next to Dean, Claire placed her chin in her hand, turning her face away.

Cas opened his mouth to protest what Rowena had said – because, even if it was true, Jack struggled to levitate a jar. Something like closing the rift between dimensions would be overly-ambitious, to say the least. But Dean scoffed and said, “Don’t bring that crap up.”

Rowena dismissed it with a wave. “Whatever the case, we won’t know more until we get a better read on how Lucifer’s magic is affecting the rift.”

“And we do that how?” Dean said.

“The rift is pure energy,” Rowena told them. “You get someone who can read energies, of course.”

Sam and Dean shared a look, and it was another one of those instances where Cas wasn’t sure if they were actually communicating or if they already knew what the other was thinking. Either way, Sam said, “We know just the person.”

“Okay, we got a game plan,” Dean said, clapping his hands together. “Go team. We’ll head over to Missouri’s in the morning, see what she can tell us. In the meantime, keep digging. Maybe there’s some other way to break the mind control.” Sam and Rowena nodded in agreement. “Great. I’ll get dinner started.”

It looked like the group was about to break, but then Jack said, “Daddy, we had dinner. It’s breakfast time.”

Dean let out a half-laugh, holding up one finger. But it was Rowena who stepped forward to explain, “Actually, Jack, time works differently here than it does in the mortal world. That’s why it’s day here and nighttime there at the moment. Why, a day in the mortal world is a week here.” She chuckled slightly, pushing a wavy lock of hair over her shoulder. “That’s where the old human legend about witches being immortal comes from. We do age. We just -” she made a fluttering gesture with her hands, searching for the right words. “Fit more into a year, if you will. Do you understand?”

Jack nodded at once. “Yes,” he said, but then his brow collapsed as he intently considered the question further. Slowly, he said, “No.” Rowena withered somewhat, blowing out her cheeks. Jack perked up slightly, asking, “So… how long has it been since Papa and I left?”

Cas froze. He knew the answer. Of course, he did. He just didn’t want to hear it aloud. He chanced a look at Dean, whose expression had gone flinty.

Rowena opened and closed her mouth. “Well, dear,” she said, hesitating, “that’s a very good question. Aren’t you an inquisitive one?”

Jack wasn’t hindered by the deflection. “So, how long?” he asked again innocently.

“Um. Well,” Rowena said. She looked around at Sam, clearly trying to find an out.

Claire was inspecting her fingernails with intense focus.

“Uh, Jack,” Sam stammered. He kept casting quick looks at his brother. “It’s still been five years, but, uh, going by mortal time… it’s been -”

“Thirty-five years,” Dean said at once, cutting to the chase. It nearly made Cas flinch. Everyone went still and quiet. The only thing that made noise was the gurgling of bubbles in the cauldron. Cas felt Sam’s gaze on him, but he didn’t return it.

Jack said, “Oh.”

There was another long beat into which no one said anything.

Then, voice suddenly chipper, Dean mused, “You know, on second thought, I don’t feel like cooking. Who wants pizza? Extra pepperoni.”

They ate dinner in the library, grease-stained pizza boxes and empty beer bottles scattered on the table among the piles of books pulled from the shelves. For the moment, they’d given up on researching ways to break Lucifer’s puppets free from his snare. Instead, they turned to the question of why Lucifer couldn’t cross the rift into the mortal world in the first place. They focused on Lucifer himself – trying to find any record from his past. No one in Saint’s Hallow had ever heard of him until a few years ago, when he seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Sam had pulled out his laptop to search any articles on cross-dimensional theory or string theory or some other form of mortal-determined physics outside the realm of magic. Dean muttered about how they were “really getting desperate now.”

Meanwhile, Claire and Jack sat in front of the fireplace. Jack was in her lap, reading to her from his favorite book. Claire kept directing her attention to the table, clearly wanting to help.

About an hour after the last beer had been drained, Cas began staking the recyclables and pizza boxes, cleaning up. Mostly because Dean hadn’t so much as glanced at him since the whole kitchen fiasco and Cas wanted to remind him that, even after so much time away, he could still be useful. And maybe he was tired of feeling like a guest in his own home.

“Oh, hey, Cas – let me help with that,” Sam offered, already standing up from his chair.

“It’s fine,” Cas tried to tell him without looking up.

“No, really,” Sam insisted. There was something in his voice – some kind of pushed politeness, and something else. It bordered on assertion. Cas narrowed his eyes, not understanding why cleaning up pizza boxes was so important to Sam. Whatever the reason, Dean scoffed and shook his head slightly into the book he was reading. Cas didn’t understand that, either.

Still, if recycling meant so much to Sam, Cas wouldn’t stand in the way. “Okay.”

They picked up the trash and made for the kitchen. Sam was quiet the whole way, his face forward and eyes fixed on the entrance into the kitchen. He was acting strangely. Cas wondered if things between them were even more irreparable than he’d thought. Maybe Sam had wanted to corner him and demand an explanation as to why Cas split up their family. Cas kept his head down, and tried to keep his anxiety at bay, as they entered the kitchen and set the items on the island counter.

He kept waiting for Sam to say something – anything – but all Sam did was open the garbage can and begin separating trash from recycling.

Perhaps Cas had misread the situation before.

He was finally convincing himself to relax when Sam said, “So – me and you haven’t really had a second to, you know, talk.” Cas went stiff. His eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. Sam must have noticed it, because he let out something like a chortle. “Cas, relax. I just wanna catch up. That’s all.” Sam closed the garbage bin and leaned back against the counter, seeming to settle in.

“Dean’s filled me on everything that you’ve been doing,” Cas said, hoping to avoid this conversation all together.

Sam only breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, same. I just mean…” He flapped his arms out, then crossed them over his chest. “You’ve been – I dunno, quiet today. I just wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

Cas wondered if he should let his guard down. “How I’m holding up?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. So… How’ve you been holding up?”

For a second, Cas wondered if Sam was looking for the typical response of _I’m fine_. But he knew he wasn’t. Sam’s questions were usually genuine in nature. “I’m… overwhelmed,” Cas said simply. It was a small admission, and not at all apt. But he was surprised to find how relieving it was to say aloud.

“Yeah, I bet,” Sam said attentively. His features had rearranged into empathy. “It’s gotta be a lot, being back here after so long.”

Cas sighed, “Even longer on this side of the veil… as Dean pointed out.”

Sam brought his head down, unable to argue. “Yeah,” he said again, this time at the floor. “It’s been tough on him.”

 _Tough_ wasn’t the word Cas would use to describe Dean’s attitude. “He’s angry with me.” Even that seemed to fall short, but maybe a part of him wanted to hear Sam confirm it.

However, Sam didn’t. He quickly said, “No – no, come on, man. He’s angrier at-at the situation than at you. At least, not anymore.”

Sam was likely just trying to make him feel better. But Cas did not, in fact, feel better. All he felt was injustice. Because, if Dean was so angry at their circumstances, he had the power to change them. Cas may have split them up, but Dean was the one keeping them apart by being stubborn. “I _asked_ him time and time again to stay in the mortal world.”

Sam held out his palms as if surrendering. “Cas, I get it. And I’m not trying to get in the middle of this. Really, I’m not. Because – don’t tell Dean this – but I really do get why you left. And, honestly? If it were me, I’d probably make the same call.”

Cas blinked, taken aback. That had been the very first time anyone had ever told him that. “You would?”

Sam shrugged and popped his brows in agreement. He went on, “And Dean understands why you did it, too, even if he won’t admit it. He’s just trying to -”

“Keep his family together,” Cas finished with a heavy breath. “I know.” But Cas was trying to _protect_ their family.

“Yeah, and you know Dean,” Sam continued with a wave of his hand. “It’s easier for him to get pissed than to admit how he’s actually feeling.”

Cas considered that. His eyes were on the counter, jaw working from side to side as he thought. Maybe Sam was right. And maybe the only person who could determine what was actually on Dean’s mind was the man who could read it. “How _is_ he doing, Sam? Really?” he dared ask.

Sam paused, collecting his thoughts. It made Cas nervous.

When Sam did speak, he slowly said, “He tries to hide it – from me and Claire. But…” He scoffed, forlorn. “He’s been a wreck, man.”

No, that couldn’t have been right. Dean was always resilient, even when he was in pain. Perhaps _especially_ when he was in pain.

“I mean, after that night, when you and Jack…” Sam shook his head, eyes skewing up to the ceiling. “He just kinda shut down. Like, for the whole year. He was just… going through the motions. _Ha_ – I think Claire spent more time at my house than she did here.”

A chill overcame Cas’s skin. He couldn’t picture it – Dean, so full of life and emotion, suddenly as empty-eyed as Lucifer’s puppets. But Lucifer hadn’t rendered him that way. Castiel had.

“He thought you never wanted to see him again. I practically had to convince him to meet you at Benny’s. And, when he came back without you and Jack – I thought things were better, you know? It seemed like he was back for a little while. But then it just got scary. He was just… barreling head-first into every fight, being totally reckless. Like he didn’t even _care_ what happened to him.”

Cas thought back to that night at Benny’s. He’d asked Dean not to be reckless. He’d made Dean promise him.

Sam sighed, giving another wave of his hand. “Anyway, it’s gotten better. You know – evened out over the last few years. But… He’s not the same, Cas.” His eyes were far away, looking inward. “Honesty, I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”

Cas didn’t think there was anything he could say to make it right – not for Dean, not for Sam. He wondered if he was better off not knowing any of this. He wished he hadn’t asked. But the fact remained: he needed to know it. “Thank you,” he said, “for telling me this.”

Sam snapped back into reality. “Yeah,” he said, standing up off the counter. He walked to Cas and slapped a hand to his shoulder. “Look, Cas, we’ll figure this out.” Cas wasn’t sure if he meant Lucifer or Dean. “It’ll get better, especially now that you’re back.”

He must have felt the way Cas stilled under his palm.

Sam’s brow furrowed, eyes almost pleading. “Are you? Back?”

Cas remained silent. He shut his lips – because it was better than admitting he didn’t know the answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Night fell beneath a vast blanket of stars. Each of the solar system’s planets were visible as pinpricks of light wheeling through the vastness—among them, Jupiter, like a beacon in the dark; Saturn, so crisp and white, its rings might just be visible from the telescope in Saint’s Hallow University’s observatory; and Mars, a rust-red blip over the horizon, standing proud among the uniform white. The moon was a similar shade, taking on a bright orange that reflected a halo around it, as if it, too, was in keeping with Halloween.

The house had been quiet ever since Sam and Rowena both went home, promising to return tomorrow to continue their search. Rowena had also offered to once again go through her own personal library to see if there was something she missed. Cas doubted it. Rowena never missed anything. Besides, between them, she and Sam had the largest collection of spell books, historical texts, and grimoires outside of Saint’s Hallow’s library.

Perhaps, if all else failed, the library might be a good stop to make. It seemed something of a Hail Mary.

There were only two wiccan days left until the mortal’s Halloween ended. If they didn’t find a way to stop Lucifer in time, Cas and Jack would have to cross through the veil again. He’d have no choice. True, Salem wasn’t safe anymore, but there were other places on the mortal plane. Places far away from the veil. A whole world.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Distance meant safety, but it also meant irrevocably tearing their family apart. They wouldn’t even have Halloween day together anymore.

Besides, now that he was back in Saint’s Hallow, he didn’t want to leave. Being back – it felt right. Try as he might to build a home for Jack over the last five years, they didn’t belong in the mortal realm. Each sunset on that side of the veil came too quickly, and Jack was growing up so fast – faster than he ever would in Saint’s Hallow. Cas knew there would come a day where the mortal world would be Jack’s home, and their true home would be nothing but a distant memory. It might have already been too late.

But, as for Cas, he never forgot. And, thus, he never felt quite whole. Feeling it now almost ached, because there was no promise it would last.

These thoughts heavy in his mind, he pushed open the door to Jack’s bedroom. Jack was inside, a lump under the quilt, sound asleep. The bed was too small for him, his little feet hanging off the end, and he was surrounded by toddler’s toys and bedtime stories packed neatly on the shelves. Small orbs of soft silver light hovered around the room, their placements mimicking the stars and constellations in the sky outside the window. They slowly wheeled around the room as the night went on, setting and rising, blinking out with the sun. Cas spotted a small red dot among the shimmering nightlights. It was just over Jack’s face, bathing his skin in its light.

When he was a baby, Jack had always loved those nightlights. In Salem, Cas had stuck glow in the dark stars and planets to Jack’s ceiling, but it wasn’t the same, and the little, plastic green objects always lost their glow too soon.

Cas let him sleep. He stepped back into the hall and closed the door gently. Next, he walked down the hall to Claire’s room. He used to do that every night – check on the kids before turning in for sleep. Dean did it, too. Cas wondered if he still did.

Claire’s light was still on inside, her door cracked. Cas rapped his knuckles on the wood, pushing it open just fractionally. Claire was propped up against her headboard, a large tome open as it rested on her pajama-clad knees.

“Hey,” she said, glancing up.

Cas took that to mean he could enter. He shuffled into the room, tilting his head in an attempt to get a better look at what book she was reading. The cover was obscured, but it looked old. “What are you reading?”

“Some spell book Uncle Sam lent me,” she sighed. Seeming frustrated, she placed the book on the bed and leaned in over her knees. Cas sat on the edge of her mattress, glancing around for a second before returning his attention to his daughter. Her bedroom was decorated differently than he remembered. The last time he’d been inside it, it had been the room of a young girl. Now, it belonged to a teenager. The walls were even painted a neutral shade of yellow, not the bright purple he recalled.

“Not that it matters. I can’t find anything that’ll help us,” Claire was saying. “I’ve looked through the stupid thing like, eighty times.”

Cas pressed his lips together. He appreciated her efforts. “We’ll find something.”

“Are you just saying that or do you really mean it?” she asked tonelessly. She was staring at him hard, waiting for an answer.

Cas stayed silent, unable to fully meet her eyes. Instead, he swiveled around and picked up the book. He ran his fingers over the dry, cracked pages, inspecting the text. “This is a book of potions.”

Claire snorted derisively. “Yeah, what d’you expect? It’s not like I can cast spells. I’m working with what I’ve got.”

Cas blinked, suddenly understanding why Claire was so skilled in the kitchen. Potion-making was her only option when it came to magic.

“Of course,” he said, setting the book aside. He left it open to the page she was on, because he couldn’t tell her to stop – even if they both knew their answer wouldn’t be in that book.

Claire leaned over it, blonde curls falling in front of her face. She sighed out of her nose and flipped the page. Cas assessed her privately, wondering if she was at peace with her lack of natural magic. He wondered if she was still bullied, mocked; if she still came home from school crying some days because a classmate had used magic to humiliate her, or a teacher had to change an assignment’s requirements for her while everyone else did it the normal way.

Mostly, he wondered if she would have been happier in the mortal world, after all.

“You know, Claire,” he began, keeping his voice low and gentle – partly not to upset her, and partly because he didn’t want Dean to accidentally hear him. “We _will_ find a way to stop Lucifer. But… it may not be this Halloween.”

Claire’s eyes slipped closed. She said, “Pop.”

“No, listen,” he said, blanketing her hand with his own. “I just want you to know – if Jack and I… if we have to return to the mortal world – you’ll always have a place there. You know that, right?”

Claire pinched her lips, shaking her head. “I can’t leave Dad.”

Cas expected that to be her answer, but it still stung, because, “Your dad will always have a place there, too.” His words had been thick, throat clogged. He knew Dean better than to think all these years would have changed his mind.

“Look, just –” Claire said, her tone a bit more clipped than before, “let’s not talk about this right now, okay? Let’s focus on finding something so that doesn’t have to happen.”

Cas wanted to point out again that they may not. In fact, it was a strong possibility. Sam, Dean, and Rowena had been searching for years to no avail. He was fairly confident that wouldn’t change overnight. But he recognized the flash of anger in Claire’s eyes – and the desperation that it veiled. He saw the same thing on Dean’s face every Halloween.

“Okay,” he said simply, and leaned in to drop a kiss to her hairline. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” she said, but it sounded like she was lying. Cas didn’t mention it. He left her room, closing the door fully behind him.

Automatically, his eyes fell on the door at the end of the hall. It was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles. Cas’s stomach was in knots as he realized he didn’t know what he was walking into. It could have been anything. It could have been exactly the same as he left it – with the blankets on his side of the bed still untucked, the book he’d been reading still on his end table, its bookmark on the exact page he’d left it. His clothes might still be hanging from hooks in the closet, his toothbrush still in its place on their sink in the bathroom. All of it, preserved in amber.

Or Dean could have changed everything. He could have thrown all those things away, changed the sheets, tucked them in. Cas’s pillow would no longer hold the indent of his head where he slept; his side of the bed would be cold.

It wasn’t his bedroom anymore. It was Dean’s.

Maybe Dean wanted to keep it that way.

Hands fisted at his sides, Cas paced down the hall and raised his hand. He hesitated momentarily, heart in his throat, before knocking. He waited until he heard Dean’s voice on the other side. “Yeah, come in.”

The door creaked slightly on the hinges. Cas only opened it wide enough to squeeze his shoulder through. He looked around, heart hammering, and found that the room had barely changed. Yes, his side of the bed was neatly made, and his book was gone – not that he remembered what it was, anyway – but everything else remained familiar.

The only difference he spotted was the framed photograph on Dean’s end table. It was of the four them posing together, Claire still missing her two front teeth, her arms around Cas’s neck and her legs dangling off his hip, and Jack still an infant in Dean’s arms. The photograph played on a three-second loop. Dean rocked Jack before glancing up at the camera; Claire touched her hand to Cas’s jaw in an attempt to turn his face forward; and Cas’s eyes were on Dean, a fond, breathless smile on his face, a twinkle in his eyes, before he, too, looked at the camera.

Cas remembered that day. It had been in town, just a couple of days after Jack’s adoption was complete. Sam had taken the picture.

“Dean?” Cas said, not meaning to whisper.

Dean was sitting up in bed, legs under the covers, laptop open on his lap. He was on the left side of the bed, the right side completely vacant. He looked up through his lashes, not verbally answering.

“Um,” Cas said, averting his gaze to the floor. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t ask Dean if it was okay if he slept in there tonight, only to be rejected. He swallowed. “I… wanted to get some blankets.”

A second went by. And then, “Blankets?”

“For the couch,” he clarified.

Incredulity licked Dean’s tone when he asked, “You wanna sleep on the _couch_?”

Cas’s eyes flickered up hopefully before he could stop himself. Dean’s face was lined; it was hard – the polar opposite of the soft grin on his expression in the photograph.

“I…” Cas said, not really knowing how to navigate the situation. He was gripping the doorknob so tightly, he thought it might shatter. “I didn’t want to assume that you… I just assumed… If you’re uncomfortable with -”

“Would you just get in here?”

Dean tone was still laced with frustration, but – Cas thought – it might have been the fake kind. The kind that hid a laugh just on the other side of it. The weary kind that said, _you should already know this, you dumbass_. The kind that was in Dean’s voice the very first time he’d told Cas he loved him.

Something warm was blooming in Cas’s chest as he opened the door a little wider. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Dean went back to regarding his laptop, but his eyes were still and unfocused as they stared at the screen. Cas got the impression that Dean was very pointedly ignoring him, and doing so in the way that meant all his attention was solely on Cas’s every move.

So, too, was Cas overly aware of Dean’s every shifting movement, every time he sighed or cleared his throat, as Cas got ready for bed. His pajamas were still in the dresser, even though they were banished to the bottom drawer. His toothpaste wasn’t in the bathroom, but he did find his razor and hair gel buried in the back of the cabinet. They were small victories, barely any kind of victory at all, but they seemed massive.

By the time Cas got out of the bathroom, Dean was off his computer. His lamp on his end table was off, and he was on his side, facing away from Cas. His arms were folded against his chest and his shoulders were a tight line. He was on the edge of the bed, leaving miles of empty space between his side and Cas’s side.

Cas had been bone-tired before, but now his adrenaline was rushing through his veins. His skin buzzed, and he tried to stomp down the feeling in his feet telling him to run away. He lifted up the blanket and slid underneath it. Dean didn’t move. Cas might as well have been holding his breath. He tried not to think about what Sam had told him earlier, about how Dean was handling their separation.

He settled back against his pillow, and he’d honestly forgotten how comfortable this bed was. His bed in Salem was a little firmer. He’d gotten it at a garage sale a few months after he arrived in the mortal world and found an apartment. He never particularly liked the mattress, but it certainly had been an improvement from sleeping on the floor.

But this bed was literally akin to sleeping on a cloud. The store they’d bought it from had enchanted it to be that way. He sighed contentedly as his body sunk into it, but he still doubted he’d be able to sleep.

His thoughts were buzzing frantically through his head. His eyes remained wide open, staring up at the ceiling.

Next to him, Dean let out a heavy breath. He was still wide awake, too.

Cas rolled his head on the pillow, looking at the line of Dean’s shoulders. He could almost feel the heat of his body in the space between them. He wondered if he should have slept on the couch, after all.

_Two years ago.  
_Cas’s lower back hit the side of his dresser just hard enough to make the lamp on top rattle. Dean had swung him through the door, and neither of them had really been looking where they were going in the shuffle. Dean’s fists were tightly gripping the front of Cas’s shirt, hauling Cas back in while at the same time crowding into him. Cas was already breathless, his lungs burning from exertion, but he grabbed Dean by the back of the neck and pulled him into a rough kiss.

He’d been anticipating this for months – planning it, even. He’d arranged for Anna to take Jack and Claire trick-or-treating, despite Claire’s whining that she was old enough to not need a babysitter. But Cas had asked Anna weeks ago; he’d even paid her in advance.

After Dean and Claire had arrived for their annual visit that morning, Cas tried to sound as casual as humanly possible as he said to Dean over the breakfast table, “I thought it would be good for Claire and Jack to experience a mortal Halloween. And it will give us time to… discuss matters… alone.”

For a second, Dean had looked like a deer caught in the headlights. The piece of bacon he’d been eating hung from his bottom lip before dropping back down to his plate. His brows shot up to his hairline. “Right,” he’d said, voice a little higher in pitch. He’d had to clear his throat. “We have a lot to… discuss.”

“Ugh, gross,” Claire had scoffed into her pancakes, but she shut up about needing a babysitter very quickly after that.

For the rest of the day, Cas did his very best to dodge eye contact with Dean; because every time he failed, he’d end up staring for too long, and Dean would either flush pink or absentmindedly lick his lips. Both responses were extremely distracting.

When the sun went down, they’d waved Anna and the children off, and Cas put magic behind his strength to haul Dean against the door the second it was shut. They fumbled up the stairs, Dean struggling out of his flannel as they went, discarding it somewhere along the way. Their feet tripped over each other and their teeth knocked together, and they hadn’t behaved like that since they were teenagers and sex was new to their relationship.

A tingle of giddiness, and nervousness, even went through Cas when Dean leaned back and pulled off his tee shirt. Cas set in on his collar bone and chest, nipping and sucking at his skin to leave marks behind. Above him, Dean’s breath came out in hitches and pants. He cupped his hand on the front of Cas’s jeans, and it had been so long since anyone had touched him, Cas very nearly collapsed against Dean’s chest.

It was a horrible travesty when Dean drew away, but he realized it was a necessary one when he heard Dean’s belt unbuckling. Cas took that as his cue to take off his own clothes. His throat went dry when Dean stood back up from pulling off his pants, allowing Cas to take in the long, straight lines of his hips, the bow of his legs and the freckles on lean thighs, the way his erection curled up to the slight softness of his belly. Cas’s mind blanked of absolutely everything else.

“ _Dean_ ,” he heard himself breathe out, voice thick.

A laugh bubbled out of Dean. The heated skin on his chest and shoulders turned a slightly deeper shade of red. Cas felt Dean’s eyes drag up and down his body, his smile dimming, his lips parting. “Fuck,” was all he said, and Cas really had to agree. Dean rushed to fill the space between them, his body slamming against Cas’s, bringing together every inch of glorious skin. As they kissed, Cas took Dean to bed, and he wasn’t sure which part of Dean he wanted to touch the most. He knew his hands were everywhere, grabbing whatever piece of Dean they could find before swiftly moving somewhere else in their haste to get their fill.

They practically fell into bed, Dean on top of him. Dean immediately set in on Cas’s body, kissing down his neck and chest, down his stomach and waist, to his thighs. Cas shuddered happily and tugged at the mussed spikes of Dean’s hair. Dean hummed, his breath hot on the bruise he’d been sucking into Cas’s inner thigh. When he turned his face to mouth at Cas’s dick, Cas’s vision whited out.

“Dean – ah!” His grip tightened on Dean’s head. He skewed his eyes shut, concentrating on Dean’s lips wrapped around him. “Dean – I love you. I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but in that moment, it seemed imperative that Dean know. The overhead lights flickered, and Cas didn’t know if that was him or Dean’s doing. He thought it was probably him. It usually was.

Dean must have noticed it. He pulled off and let out a laugh. “Damn, Cas, _already_?”

A chuckle burst out of Cas’s throat. He tried to catch his breath. “No, I’m -”

“Jeez, I know I’m a good lay, but you’re gonna have to last longer than _that_ ,” Dean teased.

“Be quiet.” Cas lifted his head off the pillow to look at Dean, and just like that, his breath was gone again. Dean’s face was red, green eyes overcome by enlarged pupils; there was a lopsided grin on his face. He was so beautiful, Cas had a hard time believing he was real – and that he was his – even after so many years.

“Come here,” Cas said when he found his voice. Dean’s smile became gentler, fonder. He crawled back up Cas’s body and slid his hand under Cas’s jaw. Cas framed Dean’s face with his palms, kissing him deeply, keeping his eyes open to watch the half-moons of Dean’s lashes on his cheekbones.

The drawer of his end table opened up by itself, and Cas reluctantly pulled away from Dean to pick out the box of condoms and tube of KY. Dean barked out another laugh. “Oh, so you’ve been _planning_ on getting in my pants, huh?”

“I always am,” Cas intoned, focusing on opening the box.

“I know it.” He dropped a kiss to the bolt of Cas’s jaw and baited, “So, how do you want me?”

Cas arched a brow up at him, considering the question. He didn’t have an answer just yet, but he quickly hooked his knee around Dean and flipped them over. Dean gasped when his head hit the pillow. “I’ll let you know,” Cas told him, and then they were kissing again.

He opened Dean up with his fingers, until Dean’s muscles were shaking and his eyelids were fluttering, until he was babbling nonsense that consisted mostly of cursing and Cas’s name and one whispered, “Love you.”

When their bodies moved together, their previous whirl-wind hastiness had transformed until something else – something more familiar but no less desperate. Dean’s legs were wrapped around him, and Cas pressed his fingertips into Dean’s thighs. And he’d been right when he decided that he wanted Dean in any way that would allow him to keep eye contact, and to watch the micro-expressions play on Dean’s face, and to see the shape of his mouth when he came.

Neither of them lasted very long, and it wasn’t exactly like they had anything else to blame but themselves for that. It had been far too long since they were able to be together like this. Cas had missed that – that connection to Dean, when he knew they were on the same page, whereas words often got in their way.

After, Cas rested on his back next to Dean, their shoulders pressed against each other. Cas stared at the ceiling, his body cooling down and heart rate returning to normal. Sweat was sticking to his hairline and come was on his chest, and it was getting more uncomfortable by the second, but he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to break the moment. He listened to Dean’s breaths even out.

“Man,” Dean said after a while. “I needed that. My hand really wasn’t cutting it anymore.”

Cas choked, trying not to laugh. Leave it Dean to be crude. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean laughed. He rolled onto his side and flung his arm over Cas’s torso. “I saw that lube was half-empty. So, either you’ve been doing the same thing or -” He stopped short, eyes flashing with some emotion that took Cas a moment to place.

He felt cold suddenly. There was no way Dean seriously believed what he’d almost suggested, but Cas wanted to put his mind to ease anyway. “Dean,” he said. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair and lifted himself up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. If he had known then that it would be the last time Dean let Cas kiss him, Castiel would have made it linger. “It’s only you.” He’d never understand the depth to which Cas meant that.

“No, I know,” Dean sighed. And then, “Sorry.” He didn’t look Cas in the eyes when he said it.

Dean didn’t have anything to be sorry for. Cas had been the one to ruin everything. Still, he wanted to forget Dean had said anything. Neither of them could. Whatever gentle truce they’d found themselves in tonight had passed. They both knew it, no matter how much they wanted to bring it back.

“Cas…” Dean said, but he didn’t follow it up with anything. He didn’t need to. Castiel saw the words Dean wasn’t saying written on the lines of his face. The words he hadn’t said since that night in Benny’s diner. _Come home_.

Maybe it was pride that had kept him from speaking them, or stubbornness, or maybe it had finally sunk in that Castiel wasn’t going back to Saint’s Hallow. Whatever the reason, Cas was relieved Dean didn’t ask, because in that moment he wasn’t certain he would be able to say no.

“We should…” Cas said, “get cleaned up before the kids get back.”

Dean nodded, eyes still fixed on a point on Cas’s chest. “Yeah,” he agreed. Hopefully, he added, “How about just a couple more minutes, huh?”

Cas pushed a smile. He kept weaving his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean breathed out and rested his cheek on Cas’s shoulder, hiding his face. Cas stared up at the ceiling again, breathing in Dean’s scent hidden just beneath his sweat. Now that Dean couldn’t see him, he let his smile fade from his face.

_Present day.  
_Cas kept staring at Dean’s silhouette, long past the point of his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep at all – not like this, with Dean only inches away, with this bottomless crater between them.

He lifted his hand, reaching for Dean, meaning to brush it down his arm. And maybe the tension in Dean’s body would go slack. Maybe he would let Cas tuck his chest against Dean’s back, breathe him in, hold him through the night.

Cas stopped short, thinking better of it. His fingers curled in on themselves. He withdrew.

The only thing he’d accomplish was making Dean angry – and then he’d _really_ have to sleep on the couch.

Resigning himself to a night of tumultuous sleep, Cas rolled over onto his side, his back to Dean. He turned his nose into his pillow and closed his eyes. His mind kept whirling.

And then, behind him, the sheets rustled. Cas’s heart seized up as Dean rolled over and let out a gruff, annoyed sound. Dean filled in the space between them and tossed his arm over Cas’s side, collecting him closer to his chest. Cas was certain Dean could feel his heart hammering under his palm.

Dean’s own heart was beating a tattoo. Cas could feel it against his shoulder blades.

For a moment, Cas was frozen, not knowing what to do. His mind was suddenly devoid of all thought. But muscle memory returned to him easily. Gently, he placed his arm over Dean’s, aligning his palm to the back of Dean’s hand. He settled against him, leaning back into the warmth of Dean’s body.

Dean seemed to quiet down, too. He hooked his chin over Cas’s shoulder, his cheek resting against Cas’s jaw. Cas turned his face slightly into Dean, brushing his stubble against Dean’s temple.

Dean let out a breath that could have been either positive or negative, but he didn’t draw away. Cas nestled against him and drifted off to sleep.

Morning came far too quickly, bringing with it the reminder of their limited time before the rift into the mortal word closed. By 11:59 tomorrow night, Cas and Jack would either be on the Saint’s Hallow or the Salem side of it. It was a fact that sat like a boulder on Cas’ chest, and it was one Dean seemed to be aware of, too, if his inability to so much as glance at Cas all morning was any indication.

Or perhaps the cold shoulder was because of last night. Cas had woken up to empty sheets, a severe contrast to falling asleep bundled in Dean’s warmth. He’d found Dean in the library, a lukewarm mug of coffee at his elbow and a stack of books spread out in front him. The only greeting he received was a grunt and a muttered, “Finally. How about you sleep in when we’re not on the clock?”

Cas wouldn’t exactly call 8am “sleeping in,” but he should have known better than to hope he’d wake up in Dean’s embrace.

An hour later, they packed the kids into the Impala and headed toward town. Missouri’s combination business-residence was on the other side of Saint’s Hallow’s town center, and it would take them less than fifteen minutes to arrive – that is, of course, if they hadn’t hit traffic outside of town hall.

“Oh c’mon!” Dean groaned, easing the Impala’s brakes until they came to a full stop. The line of cars in front of them wrapped around the entire traffic circle, and it seemed the adjacent streets were just as congested. Cas frowned ahead. Traffic was rare in Saint’s Hallow, except for when Main Street was closed due to the Annual Halloween Parade. But that should have been days ago.

A cacophony of honks and shouts echoed down the line of cars. Some pedestrians wove through the deadlock, crossing the street, while others stood still on the sidewalks, casting curious glances. Overhead, the traffic light changed from green to yellow to red and then back again, but no one moved.

Claire leaned over the seat, poking her head between Cas and Dean. “What’s up?”

Cas half-glanced at her before returning his eyes to the windshield. Nothing moved.

“Who the hell knows!” Dean shouted. Traffic always had caused his blood pressure to instantly skyrocket.

“I don’t feel good,” Jack said suddenly, causing all three of them to look at him. His arms were wrapped around his stomach and his face was pallid.

“What, are you carsick?” Dean asked before shooting Cas a look. “Does he get carsick?”

That was unlike Jack. It must have been something else.

Cas looked around, beyond the traffic – at town hall, the jack-o-lantern in the middle of the square, at the pedestrians. Everything seemed normal, until he turned his focus inward. Something was itching just under his skin – a concentration of magic. It’s the same thing he’d been experiencing since he arrived in Saint’s Hallow, but it felt different, too. More.

“No, I feel tingly,” Jack complained.

Cas’s eyes landed on someone on the sidewalk nearby. She was standing perfectly still, expression slack and void. Cas turned to the town square. Two more people were standing there.

A pit opened up in his stomach. “Dean.”

Almost as soon as the name passed his lips, a loud boom sounded from nearby. A car up ahead had been thrown back, landing upside down on two of the cars behind it. Metal and glass scattered and rained down. A number of people ripped open their car doors and sprung out, some sprinting toward the scene to help, others running out of the way.

Within the throng, Cas spotted at least half a dozen of Lucifer’s puppets walking toward the Impala. Charlie Bradbury was among them.

Cas gritted his teeth, fury expanding like a balloon in his chest. He didn’t know how, but somehow Lucifer had found out Jack was in Saint’s Hallow. Cas wouldn’t allow them to get any closer. He pushed the door open and got out of the car, ignoring Dean shouting his name.

He threaded through the cars to meet their opponents head on. He focused on his pounding heart, the adrenaline rushing through his veins; the anger and despair he’d tried so hard to push down for the last five years. He pushed it all into his fingertips, letting his magic build from a faint hum to a white-hot buzz.

“Papa, wait!”

Cas whipped around to find Claire running up to him, looking ready for a fight. Dean was jumping out of the Impala after her.

“Claire, get back in the car!” Cas shouted, panicked. She didn’t listen.

And it was too late. Someone came up behind her, grabbing her by the waist. His dead eyes stared vacantly ahead.

“Claire!”

Dean was taking off in a dead sprint, sliding over the hood of someone’s car on his way to Claire. Meanwhile, the two puppets standing in the town square were marching toward the Impala, where Jack was pressing his palms against the window. Charlie was headed in the same direction.

For a moment, Cas was frozen with inaction. He was closer to Claire, but if he went to her, he wouldn’t be able to get to Jack in time.

“Get off!” Claire shouted, trying to wrestle her way out of the puppet’s hold. The heels of her boots scraped across the tar as she was dragged backward.

Cas ran to her. He was there in a matter of seconds. He grabbed her by the wrist, slapping his opposite palm to the puppet’s forehead. He used all the magic built up beneath his skin to burn a hole through the man’s head. The puppet didn’t even scream before falling backward – and Cas couldn’t take a moment to consider that man might have had a daughter of his own before Lucifer captured him.

Claire was against his chest, clinging to his shirt, wide eyes on the body at their feet. Dean slid to a halt beside them, his breath coming out labored.

“Are you okay?” he asked frantically, grabbing Claire. She nodded rapidly.

A terrified scream rose up from Impala. The two puppets had reached the car, and they were banging against the windows and pulling at the door handles. The front passenger side door was unlocked, and Cas inwardly cursed himself as Charlie ripped it open. She leaned into the car, grabbing Jack by his armpits and attempting to drag him out.

Cas ran back to the Impala, his feet practically stumbling over each other in his haste. Dean and Claire were right behind him, until Dean overtook him. Jack was still shouting and struggling in the backseat of the Impala.

“No!” Cas heard him shout. “Stop!”

Distantly, Cas was aware of pressure crackling in the air like electricity before a lightning strike.

“ _Stop_!” Jack yelled again.

A pulse rippled out from the Impala’s backseat. Cas could see it move through the air in orange-tinted waves. The puppets around the car were pushed backward. A few of them fell to the ground or thudded against nearby cars. Charlie had rolled over the roof of a car before landing face-down on the road.

Jack’s outburst weakened the further out it reached, but everyone around had either been blown aside or toppled off their feet. The force of it made Cas stumble, his spine hitting against the trunk of a car. He grunted in the pain it caused.

Dean had landed next to him, and he was currently shaking out his head. Claire had somehow remained standing, but she appeared dazed.

Already the puppets were climbing to their feet. Cas knew Jack wouldn’t be able to hold them off again. The explosion of power would have tired him, just as saving Claire had weakened Cas. He dug inside himself, willing whatever strength he had left forward. He had to finish what Jack started.

But he couldn’t do it alone, even at full strength.

“Dean,” he croaked out, catching his husband’s attention. He held out his palm, reaching for Dean. Dean appeared to understand. His expression hardened and he fit his hand into Castiel’s. Already, Cas could feel Dean’s magic mixing with his own. It flooded his veins, rushing into his heart and setting his skin alight. It burst out of him, directed toward the Impala and its surroundings.

The puppets were thrown off their feet and flung through the air. Two landed in the town square, one cracking their head against a lamp post, the other landing on the grass. Charlie was thrown through the glass window of a store. The rest of them were sprawled out on the road, no doubt still alive but unmoving.

Cas’s head was spinning, and he blinked rapidly to correct himself. He tipped his neck back against the car and caught his breath. His hand was still clutching Dean’s.

He’d almost forgotten what it was like to twine his magic with Dean’s, but now that he had after so long, he remembered - and it hadn’t been like that. What had once been a supernova now felt weaker and had taken a greater effort. He wanted to believe that was because they were out of practice, but he knew better.

“Okay. We gotta go,” Dean grunted as he recovered. His hand slipped out of Cas’s and he stood up. It took effort, but Cas followed him. They both looked at Claire, who appeared unharmed.

The three of them walked back to the Impala, and Cas saw Dean cast a lingering glance toward the storefront Charlie had gone through.

Once in the car, Jack flung himself into Claire’s arms, burying his face into her. She hugged him and tried to hush him. Cas looked back at them, scanning Jack for any injury. He was fine, just shaken. Cas felt like he could breathe again.

He turned back to Dean, catching his eyes for a long pause before Dean cast his attention to the front. He fixed the lopsided rearview mirror and twisted the keys in the ignition. The Impala jounced as he drove onto the sidewalk and pointed it in the direction of Missouri’s house.

They arrived at Missouri’s house without any further incident. Dean had taken the long way and circled the block a number of times, just to make sure they hadn’t been followed, before pulling up to the curb outside Missouri’s home.

Jack’s feet dragged with exhaustion while the four of them walked to the front door. The burst of magic had taken a lot out of him. Claire appeared tired as well, but she kept her arms dutifully slung over her brother’s shoulder, as if protecting him from whatever threat was lurking around the corner.

The front door opened before they even reached it, which did nothing to help Cas’s frayed nerves, but he supposed he should have expected it. Missouri was, after all, psychic. The woman greeted them with crossed arms and a stern glare, which Cas realized too late was directed at him.

“Castiel Winchester, _this_ is how I learn you’re back on this side of the veil? With you just showing up at my house dripping with an aura of the mortal world?” Her gaze flickered to Dean. “You give me a call next time, understood?”

Dean blinked, jerking his head back like he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Cas averted his eyes guiltily. It had been years since he’d seen Missouri, not since Jack was an infant. He and Dean had taken Jack to her when he was a baby to ensure he was a normal child. She’d been able to ease their minds, despite her own belief in the ridiculous prophecy.

They’d taken Claire to her, too, when it became clear that the child didn’t have any magical abilities. Missouri, however, couldn’t find a reason for it. No one could.

“I apologize,” Cas told her. “Things have been…” He cast a side-glance at Dean, knowing that anything he had to say would be a severe understatement. “Hectic since we arrived.”

Missouri uncrossed her arms and dismissed it with a wave. “Oh, never mind that!” She crouched down to be level with Claire and Jack, her severe expression completely rearranged into a bright smile. “Let me look at the two of you. Claire, every time I see you, you’re taller. And Jack… _Oh_. Haven’t you gotten so big!”

Jack blinked at her unsurely. “I… don’t know.”

“He’s a little tuckered out. We ran into some trouble in town,” Dean excused as Missouri stood up again.

She raised a brow knowingly. “Lucifer trouble?” Cas supposed it didn’t take a psychic to know that. “Well then, come on in.”

They filed through the door, and Missouri directed the children to the couch in the living room, telling them to make themselves at home while “your daddies and I talk about adult things.” Claire didn’t seem to appreciate that very much, and for a second Cas expected her to argue. But she brought Jack to the couch and helped him settle, and Castiel didn’t know if he was more relieved or grateful.

He and Dean followed Missouri down her short hallway into the kitchen, where two young people – a man and a woman – were sitting at the table. They both looked up, twin expressions of curiosity on their faces.

“Dean, Castiel, this is Max and Alicia Banes,” Missouri quickly introduced.

The two of them stood up in greeting. “Yeah, we’ve seen you around town,” Max said to Dean. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Dean offered a tight smile, the stress from earlier still visible on his features. “Guess not. I’m Dean Winchester, this is Cas.”

“Uh, we… know who you are,” Alicia said, her eyes briefly flickering to Max.

Cas looked on with perplexity. “Are you psychics, too?”

Alicia gave a small laugh. “No. No way. Just garden variety wiccans.”

“But our mom taught us the prophecy about your families,” Max supplied, and Cas bit back a groan. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dean tilt his head back as if looking to the heavens for strength. “She thought a war was coming because of it. Taught us to be ready for it.”

“Yeah, well, she was right about that,” Dean said gruffly. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat across from Missouri. Alicia sat, too, and Max offered his seat to Cas in favor of leaning against the cabinets.

While they situated themselves, Missouri said, “I’m guessing that’s what you’ve come to talk about? Fighting Lucifer?”

Dean scoffed. “What else?”

“We’re particularly interested in his effect on the portal to the mortal world,” Cas told her, deciding it was best to move this along. “Rowena believes it’s possible to cut off his magic building over the rift, and in doing so, free those under his control.”

Missouri hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that could be possible,” she considered. “But first, I’d need to get a better reading on Lucifer’s magic.”

“A better reading?” Dean said, shrugging out his palms on the table. “What, the big swirling mass of power over the rift isn’t enough?”

Missouri leveled him with a look. “Actually, it isn’t.”

“It’s not that simple,” Alicia added, but she didn’t offer a reason.

Cas’s throat started to tighten. He shook his head in an attempt to quell his anger. This was their one chance. To defeat Lucifer. To be a family again. They had to make it work. “Why not?”

“I’ve been watching that portal for a long time now, and there’s just something about Lucifer’s power. It isn’t right,” Missouri said.

“Not… right?” Cas lifted his brows, his eyes briefly flashing to Dean to see if he understood the meaning. No such luck.

Missouri hummed in affirmation. She mused, “Yes. You see, the magic over the rift to the mortal world – it’s mostly made up of the power from Lucifer’s followers. There isn’t much of his own there. At first I thought it was because he was already using so much to control his puppets, but now I’m not so sure.”

“So, what?” Dean asked, rattling his head. “He’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I believe he’s as powerful as he claims. It’s just…” She seemed to be searching for the right way to phrase it. “I don’t think he has access to his full powers. That could be why he wants Jack. Because he thinks the child’s abilities will supplement his own.”

Perhaps a few years ago, Cas wouldn’t have rolled his eyes at another mention of the prophecy. But it was becoming less humorous every time it was brought up. Dean, however, scoffed. “Why, because a stupid poem from a thousand years ago?”

Missouri shot him a warning look that made him stop talking rather quickly. “Just because you keep denying it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“It’s _not_!”

She only dismissed it with a raised palm. “As I was saying – Lucifer’s magic… It felt foreign to me. Like it’s not supposed to be here.”

Cas sat up a little straighter in interest. “Where’s it supposed to be?”

“We don’t know,” Alicia said. “Missouri says she’s never felt anything like it before.”

“Well, can you try again?” Dean said as if it were simple. It earned him yet another nonplussed expression from Missouri.

“I have been _trying_ for months!”

Dean breathed out, visibly attempting not to argue.

Missouri went on, “But… maybe I can use your magic as a boost. Max and Alicia have been a help but more power can’t hurt, especially Winchester power.”

It didn’t exactly sound promising, but it was hopeful. Dean clapped his hands together. “Alright, tell me what to do.”

“What about me?” Cas asked. “I can lend my magic –”

“Oh, no,” Missouri said, wagging her finger adamantly, and Cas wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to earn that. Maybe he was still steeped in energies from the mortal world, as she’d claimed. But he realized it was much more invasive than that when she gestured between him and Dean and said, “The two of you are all out of whack. I can’t have that distracting me. No. One of you stays, the other goes into the next room with the children.”

He wondered if he should be offended. Dean seemed to be. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, but judging by the roughness of his voice, he already knew.

“What’s going on between you two,” she said. Cas stood frozen, unsure whether or not this was about to turn into a marriage counseling session. He sincerely hoped not. And the Baneses weren’t helping very much by ducking their heads to hide their amusement. “So unless you both want to drop the charade, act like adults, and tell each other how you really still feel about one another, I suggest you leave my kitchen, Castiel.”

Dean’s head whipped around so quickly, it must have hurt his neck. His eyes were bulging, looking at Cas like he expected some kind of response. But Cas certainly wasn’t about to talk about this in a room of casual acquaintances, and he had a feeling Dean wasn’t too keen on speaking about it at all. So, he left the kitchen, still able to feel Dean’s eyes on his back. Thankfully, it didn’t last long; as soon as he cleared the doorway, he heard Dean say again, voice more somber than before, “Okay, what do I do?”

Cas walked to the living room, doing his best to shake Missouri’s words from his head. Surely, she’d been exaggerating, anyway. The tension between them couldn’t have been _so_ palpable that it metaphysically filled a room. Besides, he couldn’t dwell on one part in particular.

_How you still feel about each other._

That was a conversation for later, because it would mostly likely end in Dean saying whatever they still felt for each other wasn’t enough anymore. Even if it was enough for Cas.

No, that was something that would either have to wait until Lucifer was defeated – or, preferably, held off altogether.

When Cas reached the living room, he found Claire and Jack on the couch. Claire was sitting up, her head tipped against her chest as she slept. Jack was curled up on his side, his head cushioned in his sister’s lap. Claire’s hand was on top of Jack’s head, like she’d been stroking his hair, trying to sooth him. The sight of them simultaneously filled Cas with contentment and drained him of all optimism – because, more than anything, he wanted that moment to last, but he feared it wouldn’t.

He tip-toed to the couch, grabbing a throw blanket off the back of the armchair as he went, and spread it out over Jack. As gently as he could, he pushed the locks of Claire’s hair falling around her face behind her ears. When he was sure they were comfortable, he moved back to the threshold and leaned his shoulder against the entryway.

He watched his children as they slept.

_Three years ago.  
_Claire had barely looked at Castiel since she and Dean arrived in Salem. He’d hoped to give her a pleasant first experience on her very first trip to the mortal world. He’d even gone to the mall and purchased a stuffed animal – apparently an internet fad called “Grumpy Cat” – that the sales woman with the pierced nose and vibrant blue hair had assured him Claire would like. He took her word for it, because if her piercing and hair were any indication, she was “cool.”

But, when Cas presented Claire with the gift earlier that day, she’d scrunched her nose, gave him a blank stare and a dull “gee, thanks,” and tossed it carelessly into the backseat of the Impala. She breezed past him without so much as a hug.

The day only went downhill from there. She seemed to hate absolutely everything about the mortal world – from the house Cas and Jack had recently purchased, to the spare bedroom he ensured was hers should she ever want it, to the Halloween lawn decorations around the neighborhood that she said was “making fun of Saint’s Hallow.” He tried to tell her that the mortals didn’t even know Saint’s Hallow existed, but that only seemed to darken the storm clouds that had been hovering over her head.

Cas tried to remind himself that Claire was thirteen now, and teenagers were generally contradictory. He’d rebelled enough against his parents in his teens, and Dean hadn’t exactly been the picture of emotional stability at the time, either. But he knew the issue ran deeper than that. It wasn’t the house or the neighborhood or the mortal world that Claire hated. It was him.

And she seemed to reach her boiling point over dinner, when Claire spent the entire meal slumped in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t even touch her food, which was ridiculous because Castiel had made a point to make her favorite meal, mac and cheese and hot dogs, for dinner. When he gently tried to tell her that, she only pouted and said, “It _used_ to be my favorite. Shows how much you know, _Castiel_.”

“Claire!” Dean scolded, and Cas knew he meant it but he also wouldn’t be surprised if Dean felt some small rush of satisfaction.

“Why are we even here?” Claire groaned. “Pop left for a reason.”

“Yes, to protect Jack,” Cas reiterated. Because Claire was a teenager, not a child. She was old enough to understand – unlike Jack, who was sitting in his booster seat, blinking at each of them in turn.

Claire threw up her hands. “Right, yeah, it’s all about Jack.”

Cas pulled his brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She sat heavily back in her chair and turned to Dean. “Can we just leave? I wanna go home.”

“This is your home, too,” Cas tried, even though he knew it was a lost cause.

Before Claire could even respond, Dean let out an aborted sound and held up his hand, “Okay – let’s… Let’s not go crazy.”

“ _Dean_!”

“Oh, _please_ , Dad!” Claire said with a massive roll of her eyes. “Like you haven’t been telling Uncle Sam how much Papa ruined our family every chance you get.”

Cas glared at Dean, waiting for him to deny it. But all Dean did was grip his fork tighter. His eyes flashed to Cas only briefly before he averted them to the table, and it was as good as confirmation. It felt like a punch to the gut, but at least Dean had the good sense to look sorry about it.

He just hoped Dean wasn’t purposefully trying to turn Claire against him. That didn’t seem like something Dean would do, but maybe if he was angry enough… But that was a matter they’d discuss later, once Claire was dealt with.

“Claire,” Cas said, forcing patience. “I understand this is difficult. I wish things were different. But you have to know that your dad and I love you very -”

She was laughing, but it sounded cold and cutting. “Yeah, right. You don’t care about me. Neither of you do. All you care about is him.” She gestured wildly at Jack, whose face was beginning to turn red. His eyes were glistening, looking at both Dean and Cas like he needed their help. It caused a tear in Cas’s chest, but at the moment it was nothing compared to what he was feeling for Claire.

“That’s not true,” Dean tried, but his voice sounded weak.

“Yes, it is! It’s _always_ about Jack. Why do you love him more than me?”

Jack was letting out whining sounds now, and he was fisting at his eyes. Cas tried not to glance at him, but it was difficult to do. He told Claire, “We don’t.”

“Stop lying!” She stood up quickly, her chair toppling over behind her. She pointed at Cas, yelling, “ _You_ wouldn’t have abandoned Jack in another dimension if _I’d_ been the one who needed protection! And _you_ -” she pointed at Dean, “just got stuck with me! I’m not even your real daughter!”

Cas jerked backward, his chair screeching against the tile as he did. Dean’s eyes had widened, and his mouth was hanging open, moving fractionally like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. And neither could Cas.

That’s when Jack began crying in earnest. Cas couldn’t help himself from reaching for him, trying to console him. Apparently, Dean had looked over, too, because Claire let out a wet sound and said, “See? You’re doing it again!”

“Honey -” Dean tried, holding up his palm in a placating way.

She recoiled. “God, I – I hate you both! I _hate_ you!”

A number of things happened at once. Claire slammed her palm hard on the table, making the dishes and utensils rattle. Cas and Dean both jumped to their feet. Jack’s cries hiccupped and turned into wails. And there was a loud shattering sound as the window over the kitchen sink burst.

At first, Cas thought someone outside had thrown a rock through the glass, except the window had broken outward.

It must have been Jack. He had access to his powers on Halloween, but he didn’t know how to control them. It must have been a reaction to the outburst. Cas quickly scooped him up and rocked him on his hip to calm him. Jack buried his face into Cas’s shoulder.

He looked at Claire, trying not to feel too guilty about tending to Jack. But her eyes were fixed on the window. All color had drained from her face and she was panting hard. She seemed stricken, even afraid.

Cas was also afraid – because Claire was right. They’d been so preoccupied with Jack that they hadn’t been paying enough attention to her. And she was also right about him abandoning her. He could lose her forever if he didn’t say something to fix it, but what on earth could he say?

Claire’s eyes flickered back to him, spooked. Quickly, her features rearranged into fury. She turned on her heels and marched from the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed.

Shame burned in Cas’s gut.

He did the only thing he could think of: he looked to Dean, silently begging for help.

Dean sighed through his nose, his shoulders drooping. “I got her,” he said, and then followed Claire’s path.

Cas closed his eyes tight and focused on calming Jack, hoping he wasn’t a complete failure as a father.  
  
  


_Present day._  
Cas didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the doorway, subconsciously going over everything he’d tried so hard not to think about, when Dean joined him. He felt Dean’s presence before he heard the soft clunk of boots approaching. He was attuned to the way the air shifted into something that could only be described as home.

He glanced over just in time to see Dean’s face soften at the sight of Claire and Jack. Dean leaned against the opposite wall of the threshold.

“Anything?” Cas whispered.

Dean took another second of looking at the kids before he turned his attention to Cas. “Not yet. They’re still looking but…” He ran his hand over his bloodshot eyes. “I needed a break. That psychic shit is draining.” Cas nodded, although he really didn’t have any firsthand experience of such matters. They both turned back to the kids, and Dean pointed his chin at them. “How’re they?”

“Tired, it would seem,” Cas said. And then, “I think Jack was still a little shaken from earlier.”

Dean snorted dryly. “Yeah, well, kid’s not used to being attacked by a horde of dead-eyed witches.”

“No, he is not,” Cas agreed, humored even though he knew he shouldn’t be. But that was Dean’s affect. He always had a way of phrasing things to make them seem almost manageable. Like they’d all be able to laugh about this later.

“Yeah, but he held his own. I’m proud of him,” Dean said, more to himself than anything. Then, his eyes flickered over – just for a second – and he cleared his throat, shook out his shoulders, and said, “You didn’t do so bad yourself. Ya know, for being out of practice.”

Cas wasn’t really sure what to say to that, mostly because Dean had a point. Instead of admitting it, he said, tone stilted, “Thank you. You… did well, too.”

Dean gave a shrug and a grunt that could have meant almost anything. “Well, we – we make a good team. I, uh… guess I almost forgot that.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, because he must have been feeling awkward, too. Cas thought about what Missouri had said about the energy between them – the unspoken words. They were on the tip of Cas’s tongue, but there was a disconnect, like he knew the connotation of what he wanted to say but lost the words themselves. Maybe the same was true for Dean. It was easier, he supposed, not to try.

It was much easier to direct the topic back to the kids. Because that’s all they ever really spoke about anymore. The kids, and Lucifer.

“I’m worried for him, Dean,” Cas said, gaze narrowing in on Jack. “He’s always had such power but – what he did today, what he’s always done – it’s reactionary. He’s been cheated out of a formal education.”

“Oh, what, you mean those mortal schools don’t teach the art of magic?” Dean joked, and Cas was just glad he hadn’t blamed Jack’s lack of schooling on him.

“It’s not even an extracurricular. I’ve brought it up in PTO meetings,” he deadpanned, and tried to gauge whether or not Dean was amused by it. Dean rolled his eyes, which meant he was. Cas tried not to feel too smug. He sighed, and got back on track: “Being back has made me realize just how much he’s missed out on. Not just with magic but…” His gaze moved to Claire’s sleeping form. “After so much time apart, it’s a miracle they don’t treat each other like strangers.”

Dean shuffled a little. He leaned his shoulder further into the wall. “Yeah… Yeah, I think it’s been tough on her. Don’t get me wrong, she loves the kid, but she doesn’t _know_ him. I mean, sure, she knows his favorite color or whatever but… not the big stuff.”

Cas watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, not daring to speak, not even daring to move an inch, fearful it would make Dean shut down. He remained perfectly still while his heart raced on the inside.

Dean went on, “She wasn’t there, you know, to – to put a Band-Aid on him the first time he fell off his bike and scraped his knee. Hell, she wasn’t even there to teach him how to ride a bike. And that’s just gonna keep happening. She’ll miss helping him get ready for his first date, helping him through his first heartbreak, teaching him to drive. Everything.”

There was a pressure building behind Cas’s eyes, pounding in his temples. Talking about the kids was easy. It was all they ever talked about anymore.

Dean was not talking about the kids.

“It’s been tough,” Dean said again, only to quickly amend, “on her.”

Cas turned his head slightly, hoping to get a better look at Dean. He knew what he wanted to say now. He’d found the words. He just wasn’t sure Dean wanted to hear them.

“And on you?” he asked quietly.

Dean’s throat worked as he swallowed. He sniffed, pinched his nose quickly, and continued to look downward.

He didn’t tell Cas to stop. He didn’t seem angry, and Cas thought – maybe – he could say his piece before Dean shut him down.

“Dean, I…” He didn’t know why he laughed then – a breathy, sad thing. He turned his eyes up to the ceiling. “I miss you. All the time. Sometimes it… it feels like I’m breathing in water.” Dean tilted his head to the side, pulled down the corners of his lips like he understood. It encouraged Cas to continue. “And then, every year, Halloween comes and – I know things are… I know they’re not the same. Between us, I mean. I know we’re not… But, despite that… Every Halloween is the best day of my life.”

“Yeah, that’s funny,” Dean said. “Because it’s the worst day of mine.”

Cas could feel the crack run through his heart. It stopped beating altogether. Maybe he’d been right before, about desperately doing all he could to stave off this conversation. But at least now he knew the truth.

And then Dean looked at him, eyes glassy, and said, “Because every damn Halloween, I have to lose you all over again.”

Goosebumps ran up and down Cas’s arms. He felt his lips part as he stared at Dean – as Dean stared back.

“Dean…” It was barely a whisper.

Dean shook his head, mouth pinching and twisting. “Look, Cas, I don’t blame you – Or, I dunno, maybe I do. Maybe I want to. But I get it, okay? Why you did what you did. I didn’t wanna get it, but I do. Because you did what I couldn’t, taking him to the mortal world. You kept him safe, because you were stronger than me. While I sat here chasing dead end after dead end and getting my ass beat. And I -” He gave a phlegmy sound. “Don’t get me wrong, man, there were times I thought about staying in the mortal world with you. Shit, I even almost packed Claire’s bags a couple times.”

Cas hasn’t known that. He wondered if, had he known, it would have made a difference – or if it would have just made him angrier. “Then… why didn’t you?”

Dean laughed at that. “Guess I wanted to prove to you that I was right. But I don’t even care about that anymore. I just want…” He ripped his eyes away, like it didn’t matter what he wanted. Cas wished he would just say it. Instead, he said, “But, that’s us, right? Compromise has never exactly been our style.”

It was an unfortunate truth. “So, you’re saying we’re both stubborn?”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

Cas couldn’t argue. He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Dean’s position. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But maybe that… maybe that’s the reason we’re still together after this time.”

Dean pondered it for a second. And then, “Nah. I don’t think stubbornness has got anything to do with that.” When Cas looked over at him, there was a small, lopsided smirk on Dean’s face. “That’s all you and me, sweetheart.”

Castiel, as he’d been since the first time he saw him, was completely spellbound by Dean Winchester. Sometimes he thought they’d created a magic all their own. It was something too big for his body, something that needed to be shared by two people. Something that took all that he was, every piece of him, and gave it to Dean.

Dean unfolded his arms. He reached across the empty space, holding out his hand. Cas reached back, cupping their palms together. He knew the corners of his lips were tugging upward, but he felt the smile more in his eyes, gaze fixed on green. Dean didn’t look away. His eyes crinkled, expression warm and inviting.

Spellbound. Cas would never be anything less.

“Uh, Dean?” Max called from the hallway. Both Cas and Dean took their eyes off each other, and Dean’s hand slipped from his as they turned to watch Max rushing toward them. His light eyes were stricken, expression tense. Immediately, Cas was on his guard, even more when Max said, “You better take a look outside.”

A pit opened in Cas’s stomach. He shared a look at Dean, whose face was now slack with fear. Dean rushed across the living room to the window and opened the curtain just enough to peer through. “Damn it,” he breathed.

“What is it?” Cas hovered behind him, trying to get a look for himself. Dean stepped to the side, allowing Cas room to see what was going on. He spotted them immediately: a line of people standing perfectly still on the street in front of the house. There must have been a dozen of them. He scanned the lawn, catching two more rows of people on either side of the house. There was no telling how many of them there were. Some had been a part of the attack in town earlier that day, but they appeared to bring reinforcements. He spotted a few familiar faces among them: Donna, an officer for the Saint’s Hallow PD; Mick Davies, who ran the library; Garth – but Dean had only been in his shop yesterday.

“They found us,” Cas said, barely a moment before a loud bang came sounded. The front door had been blown in by a burst of magic, its wood splintering. Charlie stepped inside, expression still as blank and hollow as it had been earlier, but there was magic crackling at her fingertips.

Max ran toward her, his palms out for an attack, but Charlie was too quick. She sent out another pulse that flung Max backward. He hit the wall hard, leaving him coughing and sputtering.

The chaos had woken up Claire and Jack. Claire was sitting bolt upright on the couch, her arms around Jack, who was looking on with shock and horror.

“Charlie, you don’t wanna do this,” Dean was saying as he carefully paced closer to her.

Meanwhile, Cas rushed to the couch, kneeling in front of the kids. “Claire, take Jack upstairs and hide. Do you understand?”

“I can help -” Claire tried, but there was no time for this.

“Now, Claire!”

Before they could move, more of Lucifer’s puppets flooded through the front door, blocking any path of escape. Some of them were strangers, but Cas spotted Claire’s former elementary school teacher Jody among them.

Cas jumped to his feet, eyes on the fireplace. He snatched up the iron poker and shovel. “Dean!” he called, and tossed him the poker. Dean caught it and used it to whack Charlie over the head, offering her a small apology as she went down.

Max was on his feet again, tussling with a woman near the staircase. Two more people advanced on Dean, who readjusted his grip on the fire poker as if it were a baseball bat.

Cas moved into the entranceway to join the fight. Almost immediately, a man came up on his left, palms out to send a blast of magic. Cas blocked his face with his forearm and used his power as a shield against the attack. The pulse broke against the shield, only causing him to stumble backward a few paces. Recovering, he grabbed his assailant by the collar and tossed him to the floor, his magic lending him strength in the motion.

In the confusion, Cas heard chanting. Missouri and Alicia were coming down the hall, a silver bowl cradled between Alicia’s hands. The contents inside were sending out a thick curl of white smoke, and Missouri was tossing herbs into it. As the two women continued their incantation, some of Lucifer’s puppets dropped to their knees or crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

But more were coming into the house, following the sounds of the struggle. Some managed to get through the entranceway and spread out to the house.

“There’s too many of them!” Alicia called.

A terrified scream pierced through the air. Cas spun around at once, eyes on the living room. “Claire! Jack!”

The children were surrounded. Two people were attempting to rip Jack from Claire’s arms. She was holding him fiercely, clawing at his shirt. Jack was wailing.

“Let go of him!” Claire yelled, her strength weakening.

Fury bubbled inside of Cas. He quickly pushed a man out of his way and made for the living room. Dean was right on his heels.

“Let go!” Claire yelled. There was something in her eyes – a faint silver glow starting in her pupils. Cas barely noticed it at first, until it burned brighter.

She screamed, “I said, let him _go_!”

The next thing Cas saw was a burst of blinding white light. A deafening hum filled his ears. He was ripped off his feet and thrown backward, his spine connecting to the wall beside the living room’s threshold. He landed hard on the floor.

And then everything went still.

It took a moment for the noise to fade, for light and color to return. He blinked, grunting as he sat up against the wall. Dean was sprawled out on the floor nearby, and was currently picking himself up by the elbows. Around them, everyone else was on the floor. Some of them were still out cold; others were sitting up, either stunned or shaking out their heads and groaning.

Cas’s eyes soon found Claire and Jack. Her arms were still around Jack, but her face was pale, blue eyes large. Slowly, she let Jack go and looked down at her trembling hands.

Cas didn’t react. He didn’t know how, nor did he have the ability to. He sat frozen, staring, mind lagging and skipping. Eventually, feeling returned to his limbs. He picked himself, swaying, gaze still fixed on his daughter. He was vaguely aware of Dean getting up, too.

Behind them, someone grunted. And then, “Dean? What -”

They both looked around. Charlie blinked up at them. She was touching her head where Dean had hit her. Dean balked. “Charlie?”

Cas got another good look at the others. It seemed everyone had been freed from Lucifer’s control.

“What happened?” Charlie asked. And then, “Castiel? Is that… Hang on – Did I black out again? I have _got_ to stop playing _Star Wars_ drinking games.”

Cas and Dean latched gazes, and it was clear that neither of them had any idea what had happened. Hesitantly, they turned to Claire.

Understanding dawned on Castiel.

About a half hour after the fight, after Missouri had checked them out and given her okay, Max and Alicia volunteered to bring the victims of Lucifer’s spell to the Winchester house. The warding Dean had kept up over the years made it the safest place for them – and possibly the safest place in all of Saint’s Hallow, period.

Cas and Dean stayed back to help Missouri clean up from the attack. However, Cas found himself mostly staring into the middle distance, lost in thought, while holding a broom and dustpan. That is, of course, when he wasn’t sneaking looks at Claire.

She and Jack were on the couch again. Jack was once more asleep, but Claire seemed to be wrapped up in her own thoughts. Sometimes, Cas caught her smiling.

“Hey,” Dean said, coming up on Cas’s left. He was carrying a trash bin laden with broken glass. It was the first thing he’d said since the fight, which meant he’d been doing some thinking of his own. Dean licked his lips skittishly, eyes flashing to Claire in the living room to ensure she couldn’t overhear them. Dropping his voice for good measure, he said, “So… Crazy afternoon.”

Cas didn’t know whether to laugh or collapse. “That seems to be an understatement.”

Dean shook his head, launching into, “Cas, what the hell -” He never got to finish his question.

Missouri walked up to them, reporting, “Well, the last of Lucifer’s victims just arrived at your house. Sam and Rowena are looking after them, but I suspect the two of them will want to hear what happened from you.

It was easier said than done. Cas wasn’t sure where to start relaying the story.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah. Anyone wanna tell _me_ what happened first?”

Missouri looked at him like he was simple. “Your daughter has magical abilities is what happened.”

“No, I – I get _that_ ,” Dean retorted. He dropped his voice even further. “But she’s never shown any signs of powers before – and, what? Suddenly she’s breaking through mind control by the dozen? Why now?”

“Why, to protect her brother, of course,” Missouri answered.

It was a nice sentiment, but it didn’t exactly answer their question. Cas tried to rephrase for Dean. “Is it possible her abilities have been dormant until now?”

Missouri said, “That certainly seems to be the case, but that’s not what worries me.”

Ice ran down Cas’s spine. He jerked his head toward Dean, who seemed equally troubled. “Worried? Why – why would you be worried?”

“Because.” Missouri pressed her lips together, thinking. “The energy I felt coming off of her – it was the same reading I felt radiating off the portal.”

The cold only seeped further into Cas’s bones. “Lucifer’s magic?”

Missouri shook her head quickly. “No, not that. Under it. I mean, the portal itself.”

It made little sense to Cas. He furrowed his brow, trying to fathom it out. Dean gave a gruff, impatient sound. “So, what does that mean?”

“It means… that prophecy you thought was a bunch of nonsense? It’s real. But it’s not about your boy.” She paused, casting her eyes toward Claire. Cas looked, too. Claire was still staring down on her splayed palms, the excited smile now fixed on her face.

Missouri said, “It’s about her.”


	4. Chapter 4

Once more, they were in the house Castiel left behind, but the ache of old memories were the farthest thing from his mind this time. He was still reeling from all that had happened, the attack, their friends, Claire’s outburst and then… Claire’s powers. All this time and the prophecy had been real. All this time it was about Claire.

The girl in question was settled in the living room with Rowena and Sam, helping tend to those who were injured. Cas stood in the threshold a moment as they worked, he saw as Claire watched Rowena run her hands along an injury, healing. Sam was gently prodding his niece with questions even as he flipped through a large tome. In her answers, Claire looked uncertain, shoulders shrugging, but also enthusiastic. Her eyes were alight as she took up a stance, demonstrating to Sam.

Cas smiled to himself and then turned to head for the kitchen, where Dean and Jack were, with Charlie. Jack was on Dean’s lap, clutching Marvin, his bear, to his chest. Cas could tell by the look in his eyes that he was exhausted, but wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. All that had happened in the past day or so -- it was a lot for Castiel, let alone their eight year old.

Dean looked up as Cas came in, gesturing for him to take a seat at the table. “Charlie was just talking about what happened while she was under the spell.”

“You remember things?” he asked. And, immediately, a horrific thought floated to the surface: had Madison been aware, somewhere inside of herself? Had she seen Cas as she fought him? Had she tried to stop? Had she looked out, locked behind her eyes, and watched as Dean brought the knife down into her chest?

“Not really. Flashes here and there. But he brought me out of it, once or twice, to try and get information. He knew me and you were buds, I guess.”

There was guilt washed plain over Dean’s face. Cas almost reached out to rest a comforting hand against his shoulder, but stopped himself.

“Problem with that,” Charlie went on, grinning, “is he loves to hear himself talk. A real Dramatic Villain Monologue, you know? So in between all the ‘I am destined’ and ‘This world will be mine muahaha’ he mentioned ‘coming here’ a few times and about how different things were ‘in his world.’ He talked about it a little bit. Guys. He’s from another world, another _dimension_ ,” Charlie revealed, “That’s why he can’t go through the portal to the mortal world, that’s why his magic is wonky here.”

The minute Charlie revealed it, it became obvious to Castiel. Of course. Of course, he was of a different world. Just like their magic wouldn’t work in the mortal realm. Lucifer’s abilities, whatever they may be, couldn’t function in Saint’s Hallow. They were meant for another universe. 

“Okay, so that means he came here somehow, right? Doors work both ways. Maybe we can toss his ass back to his own world.”

“Daddy said a bad word,” Jack said solemnly, face tipped up to Cas. Charlie laughed openly at that, giving Dean a friendly nudge. 

Cas grinned down at the boy and nodded. “He did. And I think it’s probably time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m not even sleepy,” Jack protested. He squeezed Marvin and the bear exclaimed, in Sam’s voice, “Uncle Sam loves you, Jack!” Sam must have refreshed the charm on the stuffed animal. Underneath the bear’s declaration of love, though, Jack let out a yawn.

“Yeah, you’re not even a little bit sleepy,” Dean said with a smile. He mussed Jack’s hair with one big hand. “C’mon, kiddo, I’ll read you a story, all right?”

Cas expected a happy agreement at that offer but instead Jack appeared thoughtful. He dropped out of Dean’s lap and onto the kitchen floor, eyes passing between Dean and Charlie. “Can Aunt Charlie help me get ready instead?”

Charlie gave a triumphant little fist pump at that, chanting quietly, “I’m the cool aunt! I’m the cool aunt!” Dean grinned at her antics but shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. Aunt Charlie needs to talk with Uncle Sam and Papa some more.” He rose then, grunting a little and digging his hands into his back.

Jack pouted at that, but nodded, dutifully giving Charlie a hug goodnight. “Don’t worry, baby yoda,” Charlie said into his hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As Jack trailed down the hall, Dean turned back. “Charlie, anything you can remember that Lucifer said about his dimension, pass it along to Rowena and Sam. If they can figure out which one it is, maybe we can figure out a way to open a portal to it and kick his ass back through.”

Charlie widened her eyes, playing at shocked innocence. “Dean said a bad word again!”

Dean waved her off and trailed after their son, leaving Charlie and Cas. Immediately, Charlie whipped to face Cas, eyes alight. “Okay, so. Spill.”

Cas blinked, more than a little thrown. “Spill...what?”

Charlie rolled her hand through the air, urging him on. “Dude! You and Dean. Back in the same world, in your marital home. Fighting evil to defend your family. It’s like an opera, but queer.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Or, so, maybe, just an opera.”

“I’ve never been any good at singing in Italian,” Cas deadpanned, but Charlie didn’t laugh.

“This is prime reunion fodder, okay. You can’t tell me there haven’t been feelings.” On the last word, Charlie wiggled her fingers at Cas, eyes narrowed.

“I… Of course there have been feelings. There are always feelings, when we’re with one another.” Cas turned his head away. “Things are very complicated. They have been for five years, Charlie.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at that, but flopped back in her chair. “Ugh, fine. Don’t tell me. But just know, I am definitely rooting for you. Team Destiel, all the way.”

“Destiel?” Cas asked, with a raised brow.

Charlie just laughed in her way, and then flounced out to the hall. “I’ll get Sam and Rowena in here!” she called over her shoulder.

Cas couldn’t help but feel heartened by Charlie’s spirit. Empty-eyed puppet no more, that was clear. She was back to her fast-talking, high energy self. It was like a beacon for the big wins they had gained that day, however nerve-wracking it had all been. The puppet spell was undone. They had more friends on their side. They had a lead on how to get rid of Lucifer. And, most of all, they were all safe. They were all together.

An hour or more later, and Cas was exhausted, mind, body and spirit. There had been memory spells and energy scrying and so much research it felt like all words had lost their meaning. But they had a lead.

The brain is a funny thing and memory magic is complex. They left it to Rowena who was able to not only learn what Charlie had heard when Lucifer slipped her out of the spell, but also managed to access some of what had happened while Charlie was a puppet.

“Your eyes and ears were there after all, dearie,” she had explained with an elegant shrug of her slim shoulders. “Just because you don’t consciously remember it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Adding that information to the lingering remnants of the spell that had been cast, Rowena and Sam were able to find reference to the dimension that Lucifer had originated from. It was in the same, ancient book that Rowena had found the spell in, the other day. Dean held it in his arms, rubbing at his mouth as he studied the passage.

“You’re sure this is it?” he asked. The illustration on the verso was mostly dark lines and shadows, a swirling vortex that gave way to some sort of chained box. In the distant depth of the image, there was the crackle of lightning. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant image.

“No,” Rowena said with a tinkling laugh. “But this is the only dimension we know of that matches what dear Charlie here heard about.” Above the picture, in blackplate lettering was the title “DECIPULA.” Rowena tapped at it with one of her dark-polished nails. “It means “cage” in Latin. He told Charlie that he was locked away in a corner of it, punished for crimes that he didn’t consider to be crimes. Of course, every man in prison is an innocent in his own mind, hm?”

“Psychoanalysis aside?” Dean prompted, rolling his eyes a little.

“Right, well. It appears that someone even stronger than Lucifer would have popped him away there for safekeeping. And that’s good news.”

“Is it?”

“Consider It. It must be rather incredibly difficult to escape from such a world. I imagine he had help. Normally, yes, passages between universes go both ways but a world such as this… Well, I would bet my bones it will be much easier to slip him back in.” Her eyes slid from the book to Claire, who was listening attentively from her seat on the kitchen counter. “Particularly since we’ve discovered a wiccan who has the magic necessary to create portals.”

Cas and Dean both turned to Claire as well, then looked at each other. “You’re volunteering Claire to be the one who locks him away?” Cas asked.

“I’m saying that Claire is likely the only one able to lock him back away,” Rowena corrected.

“I can do it,” Claire said, hopping from her perch. She moved to Dean’s side, meeting his eyes fiercely. “Dad, I can _do it_. I know I can. I can feel it in me, okay?”

Once more, Dean and Cas shared a long look. Cas hated the idea and he could tell that Dean was less than happy as well. To bring one of their children onto the battlefield, to put her front and center in Lucifer’s eyeline… But it was true: they had no real idea what Claire was capable of. With no training at all she was able to burst through an ancient, complex spell that even the most skilled witches had been left stumped by. That wasn’t nothing.

“Dad. Pops,” Claire pleaded, eyes turning to Cas. “You gotta trust me. I have to… I can do this. Let me do this. For Jack.” She took in a breath and then held it, hesitating. Tilting her head, she added, softly, “For us.”

Cas could see the resignation in Dean’s shoulder and a moment later, he nodded. Cas was still unsettled, but he knew Dean was right to agree. It was the only plan they had. “All right,” he added quietly.

After settling the plan, there wasn’t much else to do. Claire slipped away to her room while Dean and Cas doled out spare beds to their extra guests. As he was handing sheets over to Jody, he overheard Charlie ask Dean pointedly,” Where’s Cas sleeping?” but he didn’t stick around to hear the response. He wanted to check on Claire, anway.

At Claire’s quiet “Come in,” after his knock, Cas pushed through the door. She was at a vanity set across from her bed, eyes lost in her own reflection.

“Ready for bed?” Cas asked, shifting his weight in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Claire answered. She cast a smile his way. “So. Tomorrow.”

Cas nodded. His heart still clenched horribly at the thought of what they were going to do tomorrow, what they were going to have Claire do. But, it was their only option. He couldn’t imagine the pressure that rode on her back, to know that they were counting on her to end this all. “Your father and I will be right there with you, the whole time. Plus Sam and Rowena… All of us are in this with you.”

“I know,” Claire said, and her smile was far from nervous. Rather it was beatific and peaceful. She rose, then, and moved to her bed. “Will you tuck me in? Like you used to?”

Cas had to fight the emotion that threatened to choke him up. He nodded and went to her side, pulling the blankets up so they met her chin. And there, in the crook of her arm, was the Grumpy Cat. Leaning over, Cas pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then one to the stuffed cat’s head as well. Claire giggled and let out a soft sigh. “Have a good night, Claire. Sleep well, dream soft.”

Before he could drift away, Claire’s quiet voice called, “Hey. Wanna know a secret?”

“Always.”

“I’m...excited,” Claire said. Her eyes glowed in the soft lighting. “Not for tomorrow, not that all this is happening, obviously. But… After so long, it turns out I do have abilities. I had pretty much gotten used to...not doing magic. And now…”

Cas reached out, brushed a sheaf of blond hair from her eyes. “It never mattered to us, Claire. You know that, right? It doesn’t change anything. And when we first realized, back then, it didn’t change anything either.”

“I know,” Claire said, nodding. Her voice was even and clear, so Cas believed her. “I do, really. And I would’ve been fine if this never happened. But it did and I’m...excited to learn.”

Their eyes meet and Cas can feel the pure energy of Claire’s enthusiasm. She was always bright, always observant. It would make sense that having a new ability at her disposal would be exciting. “You’ll be amazing,” he said.

“Thanks, Papa,” she said, sounding close to ten years old again.

“Goodnight, Claire.” As Castiel moved for the door, Claire offered him a quiet good-night in return, and Cas snapped his fingers, extinguishing the light in her bedroom.

When he entered their bedroom - Dean’s bedroom - Dean was there already, pulling a sleep shirt over his head. It was achingly familiar, to get ready for bed with Dean. They moved with the same harmony that had in the early, sun-warmed days of their marriage, easily edging around one another, sharing soft smiles around tooth brushes. “Is Jack asleep?” Cas asked as they moved to the bathroom together.

Dean grinned and it was an effort not to reach out and muss his hair, already tousled from the shirt. “Charlie went in to say goodnight and he woke up. Conned her into reading him another story,” he said.

Cas ducked his head, smiling at the thought. Stray guilt once more curled through his ribs, but Cas fought it this time by being grateful instead. Grateful that, even with the circumstances as they were, at least Jack could have time with his whole family, with Dean, with Charlie. He hadn’t agreed, years ago, when Dean insisted that they face Lucifer and the threat head on. But now that they were here, now that they had been forced into this corner, Cas had to admit: it felt better to have so many people fighting with them.

When Dean and Cas slipped into bed, it was at the same time and facing each other. Dean had one arm cast under his pillow, both of Castiel’s were tucked against himself.

“Claire was okay?” Dean asked after a moment, eyes meeting Castiel’s in the blue-grey darkness.

“Yes. Overwhelmed, understandably, but…” A smile passed along his face as Cas remembered the light that had been in their daughter’s eyes. “She was a little wary, but mostly excited.”

Dean tucked his chin a little closer to his chest but Cas could see the edge of his grin. “Good.”

In the silence that followed, both of their good cheer dimmed a bit -- there was an unavoidable weight to the air. Tomorrow they would fight Lucifer, finally. The thing Cas had been running from for so long, had been so afraid of.

“Do you think it will work?” he asked across the short valley of the bed.

Dean took in a long breath and let it out carefully. His eyes were just above Castiel’s, not meeting his gaze. “It has to,” he said. “It _has_ to. And if it doesn’t, we’ll figure something else out and that will work. He’s weak, right? We’ll get him.”

There such conviction, such certainty in his every word. Cas wished he could be the same, wishes he could believe so strongly in something. But then again, if there was ever anything Cas had had faith in, it was Dean. It was their family. Reaching across the distance, Castiel laid a hand over Dean’s cheek before he could think better of it. “All right,” he agreed. “It’ll work.”

Dean didn’t shake him off immediately so Cas kept his hand there, gentle and still. After a moment, Dean drew his arm from under the blanket and let his hand rest over Cas’s. Their fingers matched, then Dean’s fell into the spaces of Cas’s. “After,” Dean said, voice rough and forced into a whisper. “What happens, after?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, small and not daring to hope.

Something shifted and the night between them went tense, a string stretched between two points. “Cas. You gotta know that I forgive you, right?” Cas didn’t respond, tipped his head down a little, and Dean went on. “Of course, I forgive you. I just… I was so mad. I just always get angry first.”

“I know,” Cas said -- they had made their apologies in the past, had stitched together a tentative truce, but something in this felt different. Something in this felt deeper and more intimate. 

“I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cas soothed, shuffling closer. He curled around Dean like he always had, cupping one hand at the back of his head, spreading the other between his shoulders. Dean followed without hesitation, tucking his face into the well of Cas’s chest. When his arms worked around Castiel as well, the hold was tight and desperate. “You don’t have to say anything. I know.” Castiel tipped his face into Dean’s hair, letting his eyes fan closed. 

When Dean pulled his face away, his eyelashes were in wet spikes. “I love you, Cas.” Shifting up, he printed their foreheads together, noses brushing. “You know that, too, right? I still love you.”

“I know that,” Cas assured him. “And I still love you. With all that I am.”

When they met in the middle to kiss, it didn’t feel desperate or over-eager. It didn’t feel fueled by the peril they’ll face the next day and it didn’t feel like chasing a memory. It just felt right.

Dean broke away first, exhaling softly, but kept their faces close. One hand was on Castiel’s cheek, fingers stroking absently. He was looking into Castiel’s eyes that way he always did, or at least, had before everything fell apart. Cas couldn’t count how many times they’d lost hours in bed, doing nothing but sharing eye contact. It had always been intense, charged. But that night, with what they were doing the next day looming, with the years lost behind them…

Cas leaned forward for another kiss, and Dean was already right there to meet him. Their kisses stretched, blurred together. Cas pressed closer to Dean, rolling them so Dean was on his back. He arched up, straining to reach Cas, fingers pressing into the soft material of his tee shirt. Together, they worked the shirt over his head, cast it off to the side. 

Cas sat back, straddling Dean’s lap, to remove his shirt as well. There, against his ass, was the press of Dean’s erection through his boxers. _Years_. Since that last time with Dean -- there hadn’t been anyone else. There was never anyone else.

Cas fit himself over Dean, kissing along the hinge of his jaw and bringing his hips down. Dean let out a long groan that sounded like it had been held inside him the past five years, maybe longer. His hands were on Cas’s ass, pressing him in closer, closer, closer. “Dean,” Cas murmured into the soft skin behind his ear. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Unspoken, wavering through the night, was the “ _with me_.” Their relationship was far from simple, it never had been, even before the separation. 

But when Dean pulled back to catch Cas’s eyes, there was nothing complicated there. With a dizzy rush, Cas felt Dean’s magic coursing through him. Full connection. “I always want this,” Dean said, soft and sure. 

Cas nodded and took the time to stroke Dean’s hair back from his forehead. When they kissed again, it was deeper, edging closer to something further. Working a hand between them, Cas managed to shove Dean’s boxers down. Dean caught on, slipping his hands under Cas’s waistband and, in short order, they were naked with one another, for the first time in years. Even still, this was different from that last time, stolen during one of Dean’s visits and ending on a sad note. 

Cas wasn’t sure where they would end up after this, or what would happen to tomorrow. But he knew, in bed with Dean, this wasn’t just fucking and it wasn’t an attempt to salvage something. It wasn’t anything damaged. It was just the two of them, together.

The lube was where it had always been in the side table and Cas wanted to be sentimental about that, but he couldn’t find the room for it. He was too enthralled with the look on Dean’s face as he worked his fingers in, slow and languid. His mouth was slack, hair mussed, eyes screwed shut and, fuck, was he beautiful. Bringing Dean here, watching him let go, was something Cas had always considered a high privilege. He held the same reverence looking at him here, it had been over twenty years they were together and still… Still. 

Once he was sure Dean was ready (more than sure, he alway liked to push a little further just to watch the muscles in Dean’s stomach tremble), Cas laid a hand to the center of Dean’s chest. “Breathe,” he reminded him gently, and didn’t move until Dean did just that. On the exhale, Dean opened his eyes and smiled up at Cas. It was soft, shadowed in the dark room, and Cas remembered that time two years ago in the mortal world, the last time before that in this bed, their first time together just down the hall in Dean’s teenaged bedroom. It was only ever Dean and Cas’s heart swelled so that he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Come up here,” Dean requested, reaching for Cas’s shoulder. Cas obliged, hooking Dean’s legs over his arms as he went. He reached to line them up but Dean caught his mouth up in a kiss first, eager and sloppy. He was smiling, Cas could feel the shape of it in his lips and before long he was smiling too.

They broke on a breathy laugh, Dean still grinning broadly. “I love you,” he tells Cas, hand resting on the back of his neck.

Cas pressed their foreheads together and, with a roll of his hips, rocked home. Into Dean’s open-mouthed gasp, he said, “I love you too.”

Cas drew his hips back in long arcs and then pressed back in, impossibly close. The dark fringe of his own hair tangled in the golden brown of Dean’s and their noses brushed. They didn’t really kiss so much as share breath, hands running down sides and along thighs, hips. It was easy, in that moment, to think of nothing beyond Dean. His body, his eyes, his mouth, the tremble of his jaw as he came apart. 

Through that shaky exhale, hands clenching, Dean said Cas’s name.

In the next second, Cas found himself coming to climax as well, Dean’s name tripping over his tongue.

They found old routines in the aftermath: bedside tissues for clean-up, huffed laughter at over-sensitive touches, boxers dug up and slipped back on. And, with Cas on his back, Dean tucked himself into his side, head resting right over his heartbeat. Cas let his fingers find his hair, ruffling through it softly and he watched as Dean lulled to sleep. 

Dean had asked what would happen after. After all this, after this. Could they go back to their lives as they were? Could Cas slip across the border, back to the mortal world, away from Dean and Claire? Could he pull Jack away with him? There would be no need to, if this worked, if they won out over Lucifer. Staying here in Saint’s Hallow, though, would be its own kind of difficult. A new dynamic to work out, a life to rebuild and refit himself into.

Of course, all of that depending on what happened tomorrow. On whether or not they would even have an after.

The next morning, the whole of the Winchester house was tense. There was a shuffle of people early on, anyone not willing to fight, or too injured to, sent off to Missouri’s for Alicia and Max to look after. They still had a tidy circle of company there: Sam, Rowena and Charlie, of course, but Donna and Jody had stuck around as well. Victor, the sheriff, showed up just after first light with a smirk, saying that he wasn’t going to let the Winchesters have all the fun. Garth, too, tumbled in with a box of donuts that his wife had baked that morning, apparently. 

The fight would be coming to them, of that much they were sure. Before the end of the day in Saint’s Hallow, the passage between the worlds would seal over. Lucifer had no doubt heard of what happened, of Claire’s display of power, and would be coming for her, for all of them. 

Jack was restless, easily picked up on the tension, and wiggled from one person to the next, hoping for distraction. Claire alternated between poking at her strawberry-frosted donut and wandering behind Dean like a duckling. No one mentioned the fierceness with which she clutched her stuffed Grumpy Cat to her chest. Finally, Dean set them on each other, with Sam as supervisor, suggesting that they help Jack practice some lowkey magic.

Cas was looking on with an incredulous eye when Dean came over. “Hey,” he intoned softly. They were bowed against opposite sides of the door jamb into the living room. Jack sat on the couch, between Sam and Claire, focusing intently on a pencil on the coffee table. “He’s got so much energy,” Dean said, tone teasing but something tight beneath the words.

“He works in extremes,” Cas explained. “He either needs to be moving at top speed, or sitting, slack-jawed, in front of a Scooby-Doo marathon.”

A bright smile touched Dean’s face. Cas found he couldn’t look away. “He still likes those cartoons? Like, he remembers watching them?”

Dean and Jack curled up in bed, late Saturday mornings, a tablet between them as they watched episode after episode of Scooby-Doo and his gang righting wrongs. Cas could remember the absolute betrayal that cast over Dean’s face when Jack had pointed to Fred Jones once and said “It’s you, Daddy!” 

“Yes. He almost always chooses Scooby-Doo for his before bed video,” Cas shared with a smirk.

Dean smiled down at the toes of his boots. “Claire can always guess who the bad guy is within the first, like, three minutes. She loves to spoil it for me.”

Cas laughed at that, imagining the two of them sprawled on the couch together, Claire deadpanning “It’s the locksmith,” and Dean sputtering indignantly. Without meaning to, Cas added himself and Jack to the picture. Jack watching happily from Dean’s lap, giggling at Shaggy’s antics, and himself in the side chair, facing his family rather than the television. He and Claire could band together in teasing Dean for his crush on Daphne. Claire could charm Jack’s Marvin to howl, “Scooby-dooby-doo!”

It was a nice thought.

Across the room, the pencil lifted jerkily, floated in midair a moment, and then dropped back to the coffee table. Claire and Sam cheered effusively while Jack just beamed. Cas, too, was grinning broadly.

“I hate this,” Dean admitted. Cas whipped to face him but saw that Dean wasn’t watching their children, was instead staring out the bay window. “I hate waiting. I wish we could just...go to him. Have that upper-hand.” His jaw worked tightly, a sure sign of anxiety and distress.

“I know,” Cas said. “But this way is better. This way it’s on our turf. We have the house and its protection, if we need it.”

“Yeah,” was all Dean said in reply. 

Cas swallowed, looking from Dean, to their family, to the window. It was edging to the other end of noon, the sun riding high and shining bright over their lawn, the fallen leaves. Any minute, Lucifer could come striding through. They had no way of knowing if he had somehow worked up more power, if he would be able to burst through their defenses, like he had five years ago.

A solid hand on his shoulder pulled Cas from his worrying. Dean, there beside him. The hand squeezed at his shoulder and then trailed down his arm, cupped his elbow briefly, and then fit around his hand. Cas let his eyes shut briefly, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s. There was a pulse between their palms, the subtle jolt of their magic reaching out to each other. It was familiar, and comforting, and brought a smile to Cas’s face. When he opened his eyes, he found Dean mirroring the expression.

“Hey,” Dean said, low and close. His hand squeezed around Cas’s. “I love you.”

Castiel’s chest _ached_. “I love you too.” Like magnetic poles swaying toward one another, Cas and Dean ebbed further into each other’s space. Dean reached across, letting his hand settle over Cas’s hip. Both of their faces were tipped down, Dean’s nose just brushing the bridge of Cas’s. 

Before they could say anything more, do anything more, Jack’s bright voice burst through their moment. “Daddy! Come see what I can do!”

When they looked up, Claire and Sam wore rueful faces while Jack seemed utterly oblivious to what he may have interrupted.

“I’m coming, buddy.” With a sideways glance spared to Cas, Dean headed for their son.

Cas, in turn, wandered to Claire, who had claimed the side armchair as hers, legs tucked up. Cas perched on the arm next to her and they both watched Jack repeat his pencil trick for Dean. “He’s learning fast,” Cas commented. “What about you?” Claire’s ability had been a shock -- not only did it exist, but it was powerful. That had to be an adjustment.

“Sam keeps trying to get me to, like, _be one with my magic_ and _let myself feel the ability_.” Claired lowered her finger quotes and rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means.” Over on the couch, Sam was attempting to impart that same wisdom to Jack. Their son, however, seemed more receptive, closing his eyes and folding his legs. Claire's face shifted, softened, and Cas recognized that she was gearing up to ask something. He held his comment about meditation and waited.

“Was it hard?” she finally asked. “Using your magic here, I mean. ‘Cause, like, except for on Halloween you can’t really use your magic at all. So was it hard coming back here and using it?”

Cas thought of the other day, of taking Dean’s hand and binding their magic together. “No,” he answered honestly. “Not at all. It’s like it was waiting right there for me.” Castiel had always trusted his abilities, even through the years in the mortal world. It was a striking constant, as reliable as his love for Dean.

“Like coming home,” Claire says and Cas looks just in time to catch the sly smile on her face.

“Something like that,” he says. His eyes trailed back to the younger Winchester brother. Some of Sam’s demeanor has fallen away, taking advantage of a calm and unassuming Jack by tickling his fiercely. Jack’s laughter peals out through the house. It’s incongruous in the atmosphere of waiting for a war, but welcome still. “You know, when I was about your age, that meditation helped me. Sam and I practiced together, sometimes. We both had a lot of power and we weren’t always sure how to channel it, or control it.”

“What about Dad?”

“He never had quite the same struggle. Even early on, your dad had a handle over his abilities. Except when he was extremely emotional.”

Claire grinned a little, eyes afar like she was remembering something. “That’s still a problem for him.” And then, eyes on Sam and Jack, she said, “Maybe… Maybe you could help me with it too, then. After?”

_After._

Cas swallowed and hoped his smile was steady. “I’d like that.”

A sharp “Fuck!” cut through the room. Dean stood at the front window in the living room, eyes fixed. “All right, everyone, suit up!”

Cas looked past his husband and saw, at the edge of their lawn backlit by the autumn sun, the sneering figure of Lucifer.

_Five years ago._  
When Castiel woke, he knew immediately that something was wrong. It wasn’t often that he was truly aware of wards and protections that enveloped their house. It was more like a distant buzzing at the back of his mind. But as he focused, in the middle of the dark night, he found that what was wrong was that there was no buzzing. It was just a deep silence. Someone had gotten through the protection. Someone was in their house.

His breathing skipped and he was on his feet, out of bed, in a second’s time. Reaching over, he put a hand low on Dean’s back. “Dean,” he said softly, face close to his husband’s. “Something is wrong.” Dean woke with a start, like he always did, but contained himself when he found Cas’s face so close.

“What is it?” he asked, coming to. He swung his legs over the edge and Cas saw him feel the same disturbance in their wards. “The kids,” Dean said, and Cas nodded.

They moved together, as silently as possible, down the hall toward Jack’s room. As they went, Cas reached forward tentatively with his magic. There was the usual shining beacon of magic that was Jack, the steady presence of Dean’s magic next to him, but nothing else. 

Dean nodded to Claire’s door and then jerked his head to the side -- He’d go ahead to Jack’s room, Cas should check on Claire. Cas nodded in answer and eased the door to their daughter’s room open. Claire was curled up in bed, fast asleep. To the side of her, there was a book splayed open and a stone that Cas had charmed to glow faintly. For a minute, Cas lost sight of the intrusion and just felt the warmth of love for their daughter rise in him like a tide. This wasn’t the first time they’d found Claire staying up past bedtime to read, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. 

Stepping out of the room, Cas quickly wove a protection spell around the room, to ensure that nothing would happen until they could reward the whole of the house. He was just finishing the push of magic when he heard a scuffle, a shout, and then Jack wailing. Cas didn’t think, just ran.

In Jack’s room, Dean was grappling with a tall, lanky figure. Sparks of magic cast off him in a way that Cas had only seen once before (their wedding night, Dean’s emotions spilling out). Jack was sprawled on the floor, face red and small shoulders heaving. 

“Jack!” Cas shouted. In the next instant, he found himself with an armful of their son. Thankfully Jack had just teleported himself to his father, rather than just away. A small dose of relief worked into his chest as he clung to Jack. 

A shout from Dean took Cas’s attention. He could see clearly now that the person Dean was looming over was Lucifer, of course. It wasn’t a fair fight -- Dean had powerful magic and it seemed that Lucifer’s abilities were limited -- but the other man wasn’t giving in. Putting Jack down, Cas locked eyes with his son. “Go to Claire’s room,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Do not leave until we come for you.” Jack sniffled, swallowed, and then blinked out of sight.

“No!” Lucifer shouted, watching as Jack disappeared. Fury twisted his face, between the swelling of his eye from Dean’s fists. “You don’t understand! It’s his destiny. It’s our destiny.”

Magic swelling in his chest, through his shoulders, Cas let his arms spread a little as he released a spell to hold Lucifer where he was in the form of an oppressive weight settled on his chest. “Shut up,” Cas ground out. Dean got to his feet, chest heaving as he took a moment to shake the fight off, straighten his clothes. “How did you break through our protections?”

“Every day, I have more help,” Lucifer said, grinning up at them. It had always been an unnerving thing, his smile, but it was made all the more gruesome by the black eye, the split lip. “You can’t stop destiny, Castiel. Your son has untold power and it is his destiny to serve mine.”

Castiel went cold at that, so intensely that he wondered if it was a spell. But it was merely Lucifer’s words that had chilled him. This monster coveted Jack as a power source, as the means to fulfilling his destiny. With sudden clarity, Cas realized that this was just Lucifer’s first play. That he would come back, again and again, until he got what he wanted. Until he took Jack from them. Cas couldn’t let that happen.

One hand outstretched, Cas screwed it to the side and Lucifer’s gleeful tone choked off abruptly. He gagged weakly and Cas did nothing but watch, until a hand cupped under his elbow. Dean’s face was soft, a bruise rising high on his cheek. “I want him out of our house, Cas,” Dean said, exhaustion twined through his voice, beneath the disgust and anger. 

Cas nodded and stepped back from the pressure his magic was applying to Lucifer. His plan was to deposit Lucifer into the lock-up, with a call to Victor Hendrickson, the sheriff, to explain what had happened. The jail was warded even more tightly than the WInchester house to keep things in. He would have to hope that would be enough to hold Lucifer until morning.

Cas never got the chance, though. Unencumbered by Cas’s spell, Lucifer darted to his feet. “This has been fun,” he quipped. And then he brought his hands together and was gone. 

Dean whipped around the room while Cas once more probed through their house -- it was just their family present. “He’s gone,” he said, low and defeated.

“Dammit!” Dean shouted, hand slamming against the wall. The enchanted stars that swirled over Jack’s ceiling shuddered as his anger lashed out, guttered through the magic. Cas’s sense had told him that the kids were in his and Dean’s bedroom, so he shuffled there, Dean following. 

The room was empty when they arrived but Dean and Cas just exchanged a look and then dropped to their knees. Under their bed, huddled together, were Jack and Claire. Jack was hiccuping through harsh breaths; Claire’s face blotchy and streaked with tears.

“Daddy?” Claire asked, hesitant.

“It’s okay now, sweetheart. You can come out.”

Claire clutched tighter at her brother, eyes dark and closed off. “Prove it.”

Though his emotions were close to snapping, Cas couldn’t help but be proud of their daughter. They had taught her well, after all. Dean’s weak smile said he was thinking the same. “Poughkeepsie,” he said, the safe word they had taught the children. The sign that all was clear, that it was safe.

In the next second, Claire and Jack both scrambled out from under the bed. Claire launched herself against Dean’s chest and clung there. Jack crawled into Cas’s lap and hid his face against his stomach. “No one’s hurt, right?” Cas asked, checking Jack over. Aside from the extreme distress, the boy seemed to be in one piece.

“I’m okay,” Claire said, arms still tight around Dean’s shoulders.

“I told the both of you to stay in your room,” Cas said, rubbing Jack’s back.

“We were scared,” Claire offered. “We didn’t wanna stay there alone but we knew you were fighting, so…” She looked around and then shrugged, explanation petering out. Cas couldn’t really begrudge them leaving the room.

“Come on,” Dean said, standing with Claire propped on his hip still. She was maybe a little too old to be carried, her legs dangling lankily, but she just tucked her face away. “Let’s go into the living room. We gotta figure out what we’re gonna do about all this.”

In the next ten minutes or so, Claire and Jack were curled up on the couch. Claire was drowsily trying to stay upright, blanket over her shoulders and mug of hot chocolate going cold on the side table nearby. Jack had trailed into whimpering weakly around the thumb in his mouth, tucked into Cas’s side in the armchair. Kissing the top of Jack’s head, Cas rose and moved to Dean.

His husband was standing, eyes trained out the wide bay window, staring into the night. “First things first,” Cas said softly, laying a hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s get the wards back up.”

When Dean met Cas’s eyes, there was a split second of fear floating in the green. Dean held his hand out for them to begin the ritual, but Cas pushed it away, instead pulling his husband into his arms. Dean didn’t react at first but then, as always, he melted into Cas’s hold. And they took the time to just stand there, like that, together. Dean’s arms linked low on Cas’s waist, Cas with one hand between Dean’s shoulders and the other carding softly through his hair. “I’m glad you were here,” Cas whispered into Dean’s cheek. “I’m glad we’re in this together.”

Dean nodded, his hold tightening. “We’re in this together,” he repeated, as if to remind himself. 

And then Cas felt the easy prod of Dean’s magic reaching out to him. His blood sang as it opened to Dean’s influence and the fine hairs on his arms, the back of his neck, stood up as he reciprocated with his own magic. They held onto each other and let their combined magic sweep out of them, washing over the whole of their house. Networks of protection stitched together, gridding over every inch, doubling along windows, doors. Cas could hear faintly hear Dean muttering. “Safe,” he was saying, working that intention into the spell. Cas held Dean and thought of Jack, of Claire, of their family and the life they’d built. 

He tried not to let the doubt swimming in his gut infect the spell. He squashed the niggling voice that said _He got in once._ and just focused on Dean. He focused on _safe_.

There was the usual headrush when they untwined their magic. But Dean was there, still holding him, through it and Castiel breathed out, slow. 

_Present day._  
By the time they gathered outside, Lucifer was just a foot or so away from the door. He had only a small collection with him, a few scared looking followers. Cas didn’t recognize any of them beyond their faces being familiar.

Dean and Cas led their group forward, the both of them flanking Claire. Behind them, Sam and Rowena held the line with Victor, Missouri, Garth, Donna, and Jody. Against the door, Charlie held Jack behind her. 

“Well. The gang’s all here,” Lucifer said, spreading his arms wide. “It seems we both have some wrongs to own up, too, hmm? I was wrong about which Winchester would help me usher in my destiny.” There, his eyes flashed to Claire. As one, Dean and Cas both reached a hand out, laying it over either of her shoulders. “But you. You guys were wrong about the whole prophecy! Turns out it is true. Anyway. I’m happy to be the bigger person, forgive you for doubting me. Bygones, higher roads, all that.”

Somewhere behind them, there was a scoff that Cas was sure came from Charlie.  
“Here’s the thing about that prophecy,” Dean said. “It doesn’t say anything about your destiny coming true. Just that it’s one possibility. She can choose light.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows, huffing out a laugh. “Oh, Dean. Why do you think my name is Lucifer? Light-bringer. I am the light. I am the right choice. My rule is the right choice.” Here, he turned his eyes to Claire again, speaking directly to her. “I know it feels like you have to listen to your fathers here, Claire, but they don’t know what I know. They don’t know how much of a mess the other worlds are. Side with me, sweetheart. We can do wonderful things, and you know it. They’ve told you I’m the ‘evil’ choice, but what do they know?” His eyes narrowed, something cruel and ice-cold slipping over his face. “After all. One of them abandoned you and took your brother with him. And the other one kept you here, away from them, kept you too pent up to even access your own magic.”

Cas forced himself not to look away from Lucifer, though he ached to turn to Claire, or to Dean. He could only hope that the years that had past, these last few days, had healed that rift in their relationship enough. Even still, he trusted Claire. She was young but smart, and strong, and loved her family. She wouldn’t be so easily swayed. In a drop of weakness, Cas cut his eyes to Dean. His husband’s face was stone, but he could tell it was a mask. That the guilt and shame that had spread its wings in Cas’s chest were gripping him as well.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Claire said, voice clear and strong. “You don’t ever, _ever_ , get to talk about my fathers like that. This is my life. My power. My choice.” With that, she shouldered out from Dean and Cas’s hands and took a step forward. Lucifer had only a split moment to react, face strained, but Claire had already cast her magic out. It was powerful enough to send a ripple through the atmosphere, Cas almost lost his footing and the leaves on the ground burst into the air before billowing back down gracefully. In the next second, though, he and Dean gripped hands, sending their magic out to keep Lucifer and his followers in place. Faintly, he knew

Claire gritted her teeth, one hand thrown out. Slowly, like ice cracking, a rift pulsed into existence. Lucifer roared, clearly fighting against magic chaining him still but Cas could feel Dean’s magic flaring through his own. It was more potent, the two of them together, than it had been the other day, easier to call upon. Some part of Cas called up what Missouri had said about their feelings being “out of whack” then.

The stretch of reality between Lucifer and the portal shimmered, stirred. He was resisting with every iota of his being but Claire was fighting back with all her strength. Cas saw the strain in her shoulders, as if a large weight was bearing down on her. A whine started in her chest, and her eyes screwed shut. Cas wanted desperately to reach out, to help her, but he couldn’t be sure that Dean could hold Lucifer off on his own.

“You’re not strong enough!” Lucifer cried out, voice wrecked with his own pain. “Even with the prophecy, you’re not enough to put me away. I will always win out because I am destined!”

The force of their magic whipped the leaves into a frenzy, like a cyclone tearing through the lawn. Distantly, Cas heard chanting. He knew Rowena had the Book of the Damned, knew that Missouri was throwing the full weight of her ability behind them, but it wasn’t just their voices. It was a whole chorus. Donna, Jody, Victor, Garth, he could make out incantations here and there, holding spells, incapacitation spells, protection spells. The latter was Charlie’s strong voice, no doubt sending her magic over them but also around Jack at her side. The whole of the family providing all the pieces they needed to keep them on the ground, to keep them fighting.

Yet, Lucifer stood firmly in their dimension, in this world.

Unfamiliar magic cast into his connection with Dean and for a split second Cas was confused. Until he remembered afternoons as a teenager, sitting crosslegged across from Sam, the two of them focused on channeling and controlling their magic. Glancing back, he found that Sam had indeed joined them, one hand on his brother’s back, on hand on Cas’s. His eyes shone with effort. The power felt similar to Dean’s but stronger, wilder. Cas rolled his shoulders back at the surge it gave him.

Still, though, Claire struggled. There were tears one her cheeks now and her eyes were a silver so bright it hurt to look directly at it. She was too young, too inexperienced. Maybe Missouri was wrong. Maybe the prophecy was just some stupid poem after all. Cas had the utmost faith in his daughter but if she couldn’t do this… He wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch her be seized by Lucifer, or, fuck, die. 

Just as Castiel was going to break away, to go to Claire, Jack’s high voice sounded through the vacuum of crackling magic. “Stop!” There was a frantic shuffle and before either Dean, Cas or Sam could react, Jack was edging between them, rushing for his sister. He wrapped his arms around Claire’s middle, hugging her tight. His face was buried against Claire’s side and judging by the piercing burst of power that surged through the portal, the siblings’ powers had merged. 

Lucifer’s shouts turned to wordless, panicked howls. A blast from someone, Cas suspected Victor, sent his small clutch of followers flying back. With only Lucifer to focus on now, Cas inhaled deep and met Dean’s eyes. With the strange intuition of their matched magic, Cas knew that he understood his intention. Together, they reached forward with their free hands. Cas laid his palm over Claire’s shoulder, Dean settled his on Jack’s head. 

The reaction was immediate, like nothing else Cas had ever felt. The full force of Castiel’s power and both of the Winchesters sang through the human circuit. It was different from joining with just Dean, different from the trio of himself, Dean and Sam. Mellower, smoother, but far stronger. It was the power of the Impala’s engine roaring compared to the rough, natural ride of horseback. 

With a final screaming surge, the portal swallowed Lucifer up and sealed behind him. Magic winked over the doorway and Claire dropped to her knees, severing the connection with an exhausted scream.

“Claire!” Cas cried out, reaching for her. He fell to his knees, cradling their daughter up. Dean gathered Jack into his arms as well. The boy was trembling but otherwise seemed all right. Claire, too, was more solid, just lax and spent.

“I’m okay,” she assured him, eyes distant. “It’s just a lot.” For a moment the world around them was silent except for Claire’s labored breathing. She looked up, met Cas’s eyes and then Dean’s. “I can feel it? The rift. It’s like the magic in it is calling out to mine?” There was a question clear in her tone as she wondered if that was okay.

“Is it his magic?” Dean wanted to know. If putting Lucifer through the portal had somehow linked Claire’s magic to Lucifer’s, there might still be trouble.

But Claire shook her head. “No. It doesn’t feel like him. It feels like…” She closed her eyes and sagged against Cas’s chest. He smoothed a hand through her hair gently, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Like when we go through to the mortal world. Like passing through the passage.”

“Missouri?” Dean asked, at a loss. He didn’t look away from their daughter, though.

Missouri closed her eyes, hands out. The house seemed to hold its breath as everyone waited for her to speak. “He’s...gone,” she said after a long moment. Eyes opening, she looked to Claire. “His energy is completely gone from this realm, there’s not even a lingering pulse in the portal.” Relief flooded Cas as he saw Missouri smile. “Looks like you locked him away for good, sweetheart.”

Claire was still breathing heavily, hands shaking. “I really did it?” she asked, sounding younger than her years. Her eyes darted from Dean to Cas and back again. “It’s all done?” There was a hint of a waver in her voice, tears showing in her eyes.

“It’s all done,” Cas confirmed, and then he was hugging Claire even closer, kissing the top of her head. “You were amazing, Clairebear. You are amazing.” Claire gave a little shudder against him, arms tight around his shoulders.

“It’s not quite all done,” Missouri said, drawing everyone’s alarmed attention. “Oh, calm down! It’s all fine, we won, he’s gone. But that is still a seam,” she said, pointing to the slight shimmer in reality where there had been, moments ago, a passageway. “It’s closed, for now. But just like that portal that leads to the mortal world, it could still open. That’s what Claire feels reaching out for her, no doubt. It’s gonna take magic to keep it safe.”

Claire pulled away from Cas as she got to her feet, a smile on her face. “It’s going to need a guardian.”

“That’s right, honey,” Missouri said. “Know anyone who might be up to the task?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean cut in. “She’s just a kid. She only just got her magic, all right.”

“Good thing she’s got her daddies and the rest of her family around to help her out then,” Missouri said, then, as if that decided everything, turned to Victor. “Need any help rounding those others up?” Victor grinned his appreciation and they headed off toward the unconscious bodies of Lucifer’s followers across the street. Donna, Jody and Garth headed off to lend a hand, smiling and clapping hands on back as they went.

Dean’s jaw worked a little and he set his eyes after the retreating Missouri. “Yeah, well,” was all he said at first. Going to Claire, he put a hand to the back of her neck and met her eyes, as if surveying that she really was okay. Whatever he saw must have reassured him, because in the next minute, he was looking to Cas. “Me and Sam and Rowena can handle it, with Claire,” he said, nerves clear in the tightness of his shoulders, the way he tucked Jack closer to his side. “If you want to head back home, I mean.”

Claire whipped her head around then, blue eyes flashing on Cas. Jack too was carefully watching. Cas looked between them, their children. He looked to Sam and their family, looked around their house and then, finally, he looked to his husband. And he smiled.

“Dean,” he said and something in his tone must have betrayed his feelings because Dean was immediately smiling, settling Jack to his feet and coming closer. “I believe we are home.”

All he saw was the brilliance of Dean’s smile before they were kissing. Cas’s hands at Dean’s waist and Dean’s arms around Cas’s shoulders. Somewhere off to the side he heard a huffy, teeenaged sigh from Claire, a giggled “gross” from Jack.

Dean and Cas broke apart with identical smiles and found their children looking at them fondly, despite any teasing. Further back, Sam and Rowena were doing a bad job of pretending not to pay attention, while Charlie openly pumped her fist in the air. 

They were cutting it pretty close, ten minutes to three AM, but it didn’t feel right to leave without stopping to say goodbye to Benny. Besides, they had a lot to thank the man for, it was his cloaking magic and careful watch that meant Cas and Jack’s house had gone untouched since they left the mortal world. He also, they had found, taken care of the bodies left in the living room and entrance hall, so they really owed Benny.

Sam had already gone ahead, back to Saint’s Hallow, in the Impala which was loaded up with some boxes, some larger possessions that they couldn’t do without.

Inside the diner, though, Benny leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest and watched as Claire raised a ketchup bottle with only her abilities and spilled some of the condiment over the cold remains of her plate of fries. Benny and her family applauded with gusto and Claire laughed, swooping into a flourished bow.

Claire turned her attention to entertaining Jack, making a salt-shaker and fork dance across the counter. While the kids were preoccupied, Benny looked to Cas and Dean. “Sure am glad everything worked out for the better. Wasn’t really looking forward to trying to defend this passage on my own.”

“Nah!” Dean had finished his pie hardly ten minutes after they came in, but was still licking the fork clean. “You could’ve handled the army on your own.”

“Sure thing, chief,” Benny rumbled, warm smile on his face. “Still gonna miss you all coming around.”

“If you don’t think we’ll be visiting, you’re crazy,” Dean said. He gestured to his long-since empty plate. “No portal or prophecy could keep me from getting some of this pie.”

“And your burgers are still very good,” Cas added with a smile. 

With that, Dean stood from his stool and clapped his hands together. “All right, gang. Let’s get this show on the road.”

They all said final goodbyes to Benny and headed outside. As they went, Claire and Jack chased after one another in some sort of stilted version of tag. “Play nice!” Cas called after them as they bickered their way through the portal. As reality shimmered behind their children, Cas turned to Dean but found his husband frowning.

“You’re sure, right?” Dean asked suddenly. He turned to face Cas full on, hand gripping at the sleeve of his trench coat. “I mean, really sure? ‘Cause if you end up changing your mind, you’re gonna have to wait a whole ‘nother year. And you know how long that is back home.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the portal.

“Dean,” Cas said, still brimming with joy. Leaning forward, he caught Dean in a soft, simple kiss and lingered close. “I’m positive.” Pulling back a little, he met Dean’s eyes and saw the dawning relief over his face. “Let’s go home, okay?”

Dean nodded and took Cas’s hand. There was the spark of magic, of their connection reaching out, and then they were stepping through the portal together. A family going home.


End file.
